


Surrender

by MlleBree



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Discussion of Abortion, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Modern Era, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-05-23 12:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 97,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleBree/pseuds/MlleBree
Summary: Christine is a lonely teenage girl who is not fulfilled by her father's frequent work absences and her boyfriend's controlling nature. But when a masked man from her father's past comes to stay with them, everything will change. Modern AU. Rating will change to M.Co-written by eriksangel12 on FFN.





	1. Off To The Races

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this new fic, written by myself and Eriksangel12. Also, thank you to my beta, gracianasi! Quick warning that this story will change to mature and has dark, sensual themes. Please review!

Three months. It had been three months since she had seen her father. He called, sure, almost nightly, asking about her day and school… but it just wasn't the same. Three months since he'd hugged her, three months since she'd heard his violin, three months quiet and alone in the big, lonely house. She had Marie and Meg, but it just wasn't the same as having her father home.

She sat in the back of every class, watching the seconds tick by, just waiting for the moment she could go home and see him again. She doodled absentmindedly, hearts and swirls filling the margins of her notebook.

"Christine."

There was no reply - she hardly even heard him. Her temple leaned against her palm as she continued to doodle.

"Christine Daae," Mr. Reyer repeated with a roll of his eyes.

Finally Meg Giry swirled toward her, one hand hitting Christine's elbow out from under her head.

"You are _so_ lucky I'm paying attention," Christine hissed to her friend, catching herself just before she hit her head on the desk.

"Ladies! Will you be answering my question or should I be holding both of you after school today to take notes on the history of the pipe organ?"

Meg glared daggers at Christine for getting her in trouble with the teacher.

"No, Mr. Reyer. I'm sorry. Can you repeat the question?" Christine said, feeling a bit embarrassed for being called out in front of the entire class.

"This should be an easy enough question for you, Miss Daae. Name the different parts of the violin. If you cannot, I am sure your father would very disappointed," her teacher taunted through narrowed eyes. She _hated_ her music teacher. He would always single her out and make her feel ignorant when she couldn't answer questions not even a college music major could answer. He only expected musical genius from her because of who her father was.

Gustave Daae _was_ a genius - a world renowned violinist and, when time allowed, a guest lecturer. He preferred colleges but every so often he would find himself in the auditorium of some lucky high school. He had never lost the passion for his work - in fact, after Christine's mother had died, he had only thrown himself into it even more. Christine never could quite decide whether it was because he needed the distraction or because he couldn't bear the reminders of her that still lingered in their house.

"Scroll, page box, tuning pegs, neck, fingerboard, upper bout, f holes, waist, bridge, lower bout," she rattled off. "And in the lower bout it includes fine tuners, a tailpiece, and the chin rest."

Mr. Reyer blinked at her in surprise, opening his mouth, but before he could get a word out she cut him off.

"If you're going to ask about the bow, it includes the stick, hair, pad, frog and screw. Is that an _adequate_ answer, Mr. Reyer?"

A few chuckles emerged from the class and Mr. Reyer pressed his lips together. "A fine answer," he said. "Perhaps next time we can try it without the attitude."

Christine ignored him, going back to her absent doodling, interrupted yet again when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced around the room and pulled the phone out quietly beneath her desk.

 **Get your stuff, let's go** \- Raoul

Christine shook her head. **We have another half hour left of school.**

 **So?** \- Raoul

She glanced through the dirty glass window beside the classroom door and into the hallway only to find Raoul standing beside it, leaning against the wall. He looked over at her, arching his eyebrow with a sly smile.

 **C'mon Lotte, let's go. You don't even like this class** \- Raoul

"I think Romeo's lookin for you," Meg whispered, leaning back in her chair, her blond hair draping over Christine's drawings.

"Yeah, I know. He keeps texting me."

 **If you don't come I'm gonna pull the fire alarm** \- Raoul

Christine's mouth dropped and she glared at him through the glass. **Don't you dare. You'll get suspended.**

 **No I won't. My dad'll just write a check and it'll all blow over** \- Raoul texted, grinning cheekily at her.

**Raoul, I really can't. My dad is coming home today from London.**

**I don't care? Let's go.** \- Raoul

Christine sighed, knowing that she wasn't going to win this argument. She raised her hand politely.

"Yes, Miss Daae?" Mr. Reyer said, sounding annoyed already.

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

"What do you think passing time is for?" Mr. Reyer answered.

"It's, uh, urgent. For - for lady things."

Mr. Reyer sighed. "Fine, just go."

"Take me with you," Meg mouthed at her as she gathered her things. Christine tried her best hide the guilty smile threatening to appear on her face any moment. She slid out of the classroom, walking into the hallway to see Raoul standing there with a smug grin on his face. He extended a hand towards her, and as she took it, another voice spoke.

"Wow, Christine Daae is breaking the rules?" Christine looked to her left to see Raoul's best friend, Peter, leaned up against the opposite wall. She didn't respond.

"Hi Lotte," Raoul said, tilting her chin up to kiss her softly. An instant grin grew on her face.

"Hey," she whispered. Raoul smirked at her.

"Come on, let's go," he said, turning and beginning to pull her along behind him.

"It's opening day of the new roller coaster at the pier. Dad was able to pull some strings with the owner at the country club so we could get passes," Raoul said, peeking around the corner to see if there were any teachers snooping about the corridor. She furrowed her brows, realizing that Raoul had completely ignored the fact that her father was coming home today.

"Raoul, wait, no. My dad's coming home today-"

"Peter, is your sister coming or what?" Raoul snapped, cutting her off as though he hadn't even been listening to her.

"She said she would meet us at the car," Peter said, apparently a bit too loudly for Raoul's liking, as he gave the other boy a glare. Christine internally groaned; she hated Carly. Having Peter around was bad enough, but having Carly there was going to make her day a living hell.

They had weaved their way through the halls and to the back door of the boiler room, making their way outside to the student parking lot, the heat of the searing hot Californian sun glaring down on them. There they met Carly. She sat in her fiery red Mini Cooper with trashy music blaring.

"Oh god, why is the prude here?" Carly groaned. Christine's jaw clenched, and Raoul's grip on her hand tightened. The girls never seemed to have been able to have a civil conversation before Carly would insult and belittle Christine.

"Ignore her," Raoul said, opening the door to his navy BMW and throwing his backpack into the back seat. Christine went around to the other side of the car, opening the door. She shouldn't have been shocked by his response; he wasn't one to defend her often.

"Oh, yes, Virgin Mary, please ignore me!" Carly snickered as Peter opened the door and climbed in with his sister, chuckling along with her.

"At least I don't spread my legs for the entire baseball team," Christine said, getting a final blow in on Carly. She slammed the door shut, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Did I not say to ignore her? Christ, Christine. Can you never just listen to me?" Raoul said, running his fingers through his hair. He looked at Christine. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that…" she whispered, not meeting his eyes, hating it when he was angry with her.

"Whatever," he grunted, throwing the car into reverse and backing out of his space. They drove in silence until Raoul turned the radio up far too loud. She reached to turn it down slightly only to have her hand swatted away from the stereo. "Don't touch it," he said, obviously annoyed with her. She hated it when he acted like this.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, checking her phone and hoping her dad had texted her that he was home.

"Who's texting you?" Raoul asked, slamming on the brakes at a red light, looking at Christine with his icy blue eyes.

"I'm checking to see if my dad texted me?" Christine said, hoping he wasn't planning on going through her phone again.

"Why would he be texting you?" he asked, looking into the rear view mirror and parting his hair to the side a bit.

"I told you, he's coming home from London today. He's been gone for three months? Have you not been listening to me at all recently-"

He stopped his actions, his eyes narrowing at her. "Oh! I'm sorry, you haven't been the only thing on my mind recently! I'm sorry the whole world doesn't revolve around you!" he snapped, stealing angry glances at her as he looked away from the road. The light turned green and he sped forward.

"Raoul, I didn't mean it that way… I just-" She felt herself getting anxious, her heartbeat speeding up, her ears getting hot, her jaw trembling slightly. She would not cry. He always yelled at her when she cried. "Can I please just go home? I want to see my dad… I haven't seen him in three months-"

"So? I went six months without seeing my father once. I was fine."

"I know, but you and your dad don't get along very well and he and Phil always-"

"So you're saying it didn't affect me how it affects you when your dad travels?"

"Raoul, stop! Please… can- can I just go home? Please?"

"Of course, Christine. Always have to run to daddy and cry when he comes home, don't you? You complain about how lonely it is in the house by yourself. Here I am, just trying to take you out..." He paused, looking over at her, his face softening. "You don't even appreciate it. You can't even give it a chance. You'll have fun if you just try to."

She bit her lip, staring back at him. "I do appreciate it, Raoul. I just - I really miss him, you know? And I was really hoping to be there when he gets home."

He huffed in annoyance, setting his jaw as he hit the indicator and cut dangerously across three lanes of traffic.

"Please don't be angry with me, Raoul. I don't want to fight anymore," she whispered.

He maneuvered the car around a corner, causing Christine to grab the handle over the door in a panic. "I went through a lot of trouble to get those tickets."

"I know. Raoul, I'm sorry. I really am. I told you that he was coming home today. I was really hoping you'd be there."

He said nothing, staring straight ahead as they turned back toward her house. Sometimes she felt guilty when he was like this - should she be more grateful? He really had gone to a lot of trouble to get the tickets, and putting up with his father was not something he was all too fond of doing. He stopped short at her driveway, her body jolting forward. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Are you getting out?" Raoul snapped. Christine looked at him and forced a smile.

"Yeah, sorry," she said, leaning towards him. He didn't even look at her while she softly kissed his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow morning?" she asked, hoping he would still pick her up for school.

"Yeah… sure," he huffed as she climbed out of the car.

"Bye Raoul, have fun," she said, closing the door. She barely managed to step away before he sped off down the street. She forced a smile on her face, knowing Raoul would be better in the morning when he picked her up for school.

She hurried into the empty house, tossing her backpack into the front hallway and pulling her phone from her pocket to make sure her father hadn't texted her. She scrolled through her notifications but there was no text. She huffed, wanting nothing more to simply catch up with him, have him bring her a gift from London, anything. All she wanted was her dad.

It was far too lonely in the big house. The empty bedrooms, the guest house, the pool and yard, there was nobody except for her. Meg and her mother Marie had checked up on her often, taking her grocery shopping, to appointments and such as a favor to her father. There was one other: Mama Valerius, her adoptive grandma. She had grown up in the Deep South of New Orleans, and had adopted Gustave when he had been a young boy from Sweden. She was eighty-four, and as strong spirited as ever. That was all she had in her life.

Christine threw herself onto the couch, dangling her feet over the armrest. She went online and began surfing through pictures of shoes to go with her prom dress; it was only a few weeks till the big night. She desperately tried to remember what Raoul had said about what colors she was allowed to wear. He had a standard for them.

"No red, no black, no…" He had given her a list of 'don'ts' when selecting her dress months ago. She didn't argue. Luckily enough she had found a beautiful pink, purple, and white gown with a silver trim. She felt like royalty wearing it, especially when she would be standing next to Raoul in his navy suit and golden waistcoat. They were a picturesque couple… they had to be.

She was distracted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. She flew out of her seat, her heart pounding with excitement, and she was unable to stop the grin that spread across her face. He was home! The door opened to reveal a man with curly brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a kind face. Gustave was home.

"Dad!" she cried, launching herself into his embrace. His warm smile was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Oh Lotte!" The soft voice of her father making everything in her word right again. He held onto her tightly, making her feel loved and protected. "I've missed you so much… three months is far too long, my love." Gustave dropped his suitcase on the floor, wrapping his other arm around Christine.

The two shared an embrace for a few more moments until Christine had finally pulled back. Gustave looked exhausted; she knew he needed to sleep but would never tell her that after so many months apart from each other. He cupped his daughters face in his hands, leaning forward and kissing her nose.

"You look just like your mother…" He brushed some of her wild curls away from her face, his face soft with a smile.

* * *

They sat on the deck on the back of the house, a pizza box open on the patio table between them.

"So have you sent out all of your responses to the colleges we spoke about on the phone?" Gustave asked between bites of his dinner. Christine sighed, reaching to take a drink of her water.

"Well… I mean..." she began sheepishly.

"Lotte, I don't like the sound of that answer," Gustave said, straightening his posture with a sigh, arching his bushy eyebrow questioningly to his daughter.

"I didn't respond to any of them," Christine said, biting the inside of her cheek anxiously. The change in her father's face worried her greatly. He was disappointed in her.

"Christine, why? You've just thrown so much opportunity out the window!" His tone was harsh and she flinched.

"Dad, I told you. I want to travel. I want to see the world -"

"You're still a child, Lotte! You aren't ready to travel on your own -"

"Then take me with you! Teach me to produce, to teach, to -" Gustave held up his hand, silencing her.

"No. Your education is important. You _are_ going to college; there is no way around it. You will graduate high school, go to college, earn a degree in vocal training -"

"Dad, it's just a piece of paper! It means nothing -"

"Enough. I'm calling the Dean at Emerson tomorrow and making a donation to the school. Hopefully he'll overlook your late application." She didn't dare push him any further. The little time they had together should not be focused on her arguing with him about college. He must know what was best… but a part of her yearned just once for her to be allowed to make her own choices regarding her life. She was on her own most of the time, but her life was still run by others for her.

A thick silence settled between the two, the tension obvious, until Gustave broke it with a sigh, looking at his daughter. He reached across the table and took her hand in his.

"You know how I hate to be angry with you. I just… I want your life to be successful and happy." He squeezed her hand three times. Each squeeze was the phrase 'I love you.' She smiled at him, knowing he only spoke the truth.

"I know." She squeezed his hand back.

"So, what else has happened? How are Meg and her mom? Marie reached out a few weeks ago to give me an update on you." Gustave leaned back, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Meg's good. She's going for an evaluation in a few weeks in New York at the dance academy she was accepted to. Marie is so proud of her. I am too," Christine said, beaming with pride about her best friend's accomplishments.

"She deserves it! She has worked hard all her life for it." He took another bite of his pizza and leaned back in his chair. "How about Raoul? I feel like everytime I come home he seems to have grown up even more." Gustave said, hoping they were well together, knowing that Christine was lucky to have been accepted into the De Changy family. They were kind, generous, a safe choice for her.

"Raoul's good. He's really busy with baseball right now, the season is about over. He just got a new car because Phil moved to Paris, the navy BMW."

"Oh, yes! His father and I had lunch in London when he was in town for a business expo. He told me about Phil's big move, the business branching across Europe is excellent."

"Yeah. Raoul won't stop talking about it. His dad was stressing him out a lot with college applications. He's going to NYU for business and international affairs."

"He'll do very well," Gustave said, proud of all of the accomplishments of those closest to Christine since childhood. Raoul and Christine being friends since birth and now dating... It was expected; they had hardly separated as children, with little Meg Giry trailing behind them.

"So it's almost your eighteenth birthday," Gustave said, seeming to suddenly realize his little girl was about to be an adult.

"It is," Christine said with a giddy smirk, knowing her father would _finally_ be home for her birthday this year.

"Any idea of -" Their conversation was suddenly cut short by the ring of Gustave's cell phone. He looked at her apologetically. "One second, Lotte."

He slid his phone out from his dress pant pocket. He squinted looking at the number, apparently not recognizing it. "Isn't urgent," he said, smiling and placing the phone down on the table, letting it go to voicemail. "So, what shall we do to celebrate? Dinner? Party?" he asked. Christine's face lit up.

"Dinner with you, Raoul, Meg, Marie and -" The phone rang again. Gustave groaned, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"This should only take a minute, then you will have my complete attention. I promise." Gustave picked up the phone, answering. "Hello?"

"Gustave." A dark voice filled with thousands of memories answered, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. "I need to speak with you." _No, no it couldn't be._

"Who's this?" Gustave asked, trying to soothe his assumptions.

"Erik. Erik Devereux, or have you forgotten me after all this time?" The voice in the other line asked, his tone laced with a dark chuckle. Gustave felt his heart begin to race. This voice belonged to his student, partner, and friend. They had not spoken in almost 18 years.

"What do you need?" he asked, meeting Christine's concerned gaze and trying to mask the mixed shock, fear, and relief he was feeling at this moment

"I need to speak with you."

Gustave sighed. Eighteen years, and now at the moment when Gustave was home, this had to happen. His heart hurt thinking of leaving Christine alone for hours, but he knew that Erik would not have called after all of this time if he truly wasn't in trouble.

"Give me a minute," he sighed. He took Christine's hand in his. "Lotte, I have to deal with something. It shouldn't take very long, okay?" Christine tried her best to hide the disappointment in her expression with a smile and an understanding nod. Gustave squeezed her hand and stood up from his chair, making his way into into the house.

Christine remained seated. She didn't get up for a long time, hoping that he would just wrap up his call quickly and return to dinner with her.

It didn't happen. He didn't come back. The door to the office was closed and he didn't come back out for hours. She picked at her dinner by herself, cleaned up by herself, got ready for bed by herself. The feeling of loneliness returned, making her feel vulnerable once more.

Christine later climbed the stairs, looking back towards the door of her father's office longingly. She wished he would at least come out to say goodnight to her, but he didn't. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and headed for her bedroom.


	2. Back to Black

A dead silence sat on the line as Gustave marched up to his office. He felt absolutely horrible for spending three months away from Christine, arriving home only to have his attention ripped away from her. She would understand though, she always did.

On the phone he heard the familiar flick of a lighter and burning of the end of a cigarette.

"Still smoking are we?" He asked walking into his office, and closing the door tightly behind him.

"Still have eagle ears do we? Well, an excellent talent for a conductor of your talents to have, Gustave." The sarcasm in his voice was evident. Gustave walked to the liquor cabinet that he kept in the office. He grabbed a glass and poured himself a scotch, sitting in his office chair.

"So tell me Erik, after all this time. Why do you reach out now?"

There was silence for a beat, the sound of an exhale. "It's been nearly eighteen years. Do I need an excuse to want to catch up with an old friend?"

"Erik… who are you trying to fool? We both know that you wouldn't be calling if you didn't need something. I've known you since you were sixteen."

"Come now, Gustave. Haven't you missed me?"

"Like the plague."

Erik's laugh was melodious and dark.

"It isn't like you to dance around the issue, Erik," Gustave said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You must actually be in some deep shit this time."

"Listen," Erik said with a sigh. "I - I fucked up and -"

"Mark that one down in the books," Gustave cut him off. "I didn't think I would ever hear that phrase out of your mouth."

"I served some time," Erik said flatly, knowing that would be enough to silence his friend's jovial teasing. "I fucked up, Gustave. I don't know where else to go. I just - I just need somewhere to go for a while. Just until I get back on my feet."

Gustave leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desk. If he said that he was surprised he would have been lying - if anything he was more surprised to hear him _ask_ for help than to know he served time. "Apparently prison was good for you… I have never turned you away, Erik. You know that. You've always been welcome here. What'd you do? Steal a car? A helicopter? Did they finally catch you lighting something on fire you shouldn't have?"

"Something like it. Look, it isn't funny, Gustave. I need somewhere to stay -" there was a long pause. "Please."

"That sounded like it hurt," Gustave snickered with one final jab. "When will you be here?"

"Tomorrow." The word sounded like relief.

"Do you have a pen? The address -"

"I know," Erik said softly. "Listen, I'll see you tomorrow. Early evening - let's say five. I have to go."

There was a click and the line went dead.

Gustave sat alone, in a thick silence that loomed over him. He could only stare at a picture he had kept on his desk for the last eighteen years since they moved into this house. It was him and Erik on one of the proudest days of his life, next to the birth of Christine and his wedding day. It was Erik's high school graduation. He was only eighteen years old in it. His youthful face, a dashing smirk, his black hair slicked back and cigars in their mouths. He was so proud, as was Erik's father who was on the other side of the camera. His heart ached at the thought of Erik's father… Benjamin Devereux. A great architect, a loving man, an outstanding father to Erik.

Gustave looked back to Erik's face. There was no mask. Two years before the accident that changed his life. The pain in his heart grew.

He sucked down the rest of his drink like a shot, the amber liquid burning the back of his throat. He looked back to the liquor cabinet and at the unopened bottle of _Glenglassaugh Highland Scotch Whiskey_ there. It was given to Gustave as a congratulatory gift for his daughter's birth. He remembered asking Erik how he obtained such a thing; Erik had been only twenty. The only answer he got was a dark chuckle.

They never opened it. Erik was gone the next day.

Gustave had taken Erik under his wing when Erik was sixteen years old. By the age of twenty-seven, Gustave was a world-renowned orchestral conductor and music producer. He had made a fortune. There was still always an underlying need for him to work to prove himself.

He was a young boy when he was removed from the home of his abusive parents in Sweden. He had been brought into the US in their adoptive system where he was adopted by true angel. Annabelle 'Mama' Valerius. She was a widow; her husband had been killed in Vietnam. She owned a piano bar in the French Quarter in New Orleans. There was always music, good food, laughs and love in his home. This was where Gustave found his love for music. By the age of ten he knew to play the fiddle and was in a zydeco band that performed in the bar on weeknights. By the age of seventeen he was classically trained in the violin. He was given a full scholarship to Julliard. He graduated in two years from a four-year program. He was hailed a genius.

He could remember the day he met Erik like yesterday. He was doing a lecture at a private high school in New York. While explaining the fundamentals of composing to a junior class there was a young man two rows back with piercing green eyes that were trained on Gustave the whole time. The other kids around him were busy goofing off, but not him. That was Erik.

He remembered how after the lecture Erik had approached him, asking if he knew of any internship programs with composers. The rest was history. Gustave took Erik under his wing.

Erik came from a wealthy family. His father had owned a multimillion-dollar architecture company. He remembered being invited to the Devereux house for dinner one night and meeting Erik's father. Benjamin fully supported Erik's longing to compose and create instead of running the architecture firm. He wanted nothing more than his son's happiness. He remembered all the nights that Erik would stay at his apartment, the pair staying up all hours of the night talking music and history, literature and women. Erik was only sixteen and knew so much of the world. Gustave still always found ways to show him more.

Gustave ran his hands over his tired face before he stood and walked over the locked drawer in the corner of the office. He grabbed the key from the velvet box he kept on the other side of the room and unlocked the drawer. Inside were photo albums, one labeled 'New Orleans' and the other 'New House'. Gustave pulled them all out, spreading them over the corner of the office. He grasped the 'New Orleans' album first; full of memories from the summers they spent there.

He opened the cover and felt as if he had his heart ripped from his chest. The first photo was himself, Victoria, Erik, and whatever girl he had at the time - Jessica, maybe. It was hard to keep them all straight over the years. Regardless, they were in the French Quarter. Erik stood there with a beer in his hand, looking at the crowds of people below the porch as they passed by, that blonde girl next to him with his hand on the small of her back, Victoria and Gustave next to them. Gustave smiled fondly, thinking of how young they all were. Erik had only been nineteen. Gustave was thirty-one, Victoria only twenty-eight.

The next photo was Erik and Mama Valerius, her kissing his cheek as he grimaced. There were a few more of Erik at bars with various women, Victoria at the edge of each shot, pulling funny faces in an attempt to embarrass him. It was good for his ego. Another was Erik in a suit, after church on a Sunday. The expectation from Mama Valerius on Sunday's was that the boys always went to church in the morning with her to cleanse themselves. Especially Erik.

Parallel to that was Erik with his middle finger up at the camera and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, sitting outside in the middle of the night. Gustave could remember that week clearly; they had rented a house on the lake for Victoria's birthday.

After that, it was Erik and his father. Erik was twenty; it was his birthday and his dad had flown down to surprise him and be there for Gustave and Victoria's wedding. Gustave smiled; he had missed this too much. He closed the album and opened the next one.

'New House' was full of memories of when they had bought the very house Gustave now stood in. It was November; the month they found out Victoria was pregnant with Christine. They had bought a plot of land. Erik's father's company was planning to break ground and build the house for them to raise their family in as a thank you. Erik had designed the plans, having learned at his father's side from a young age.

The thoughts of Erik's father hurt Gustave. He had been taken far too soon…

There was an accident. Erik was driving his twentieth birthday present from his father, a 1971 Plymouth Cuda Black. He had dreamed of owning the car since he had been a young boy.

They were driving along, catching up on the summer, talking about Gustave and Victoria's plans to move in the following week. They talked about his stepmother… his wicked stepmother. Erik hated her and she hated him. She was two faced and deceitful. She only wanted his father's money. He had never believed they were in love. His father just wanted to have someone there for Erik when he traveled for work. Erik had never wanted his father to remarry after his mother died when he was ten. He had believed in love between those two; his father had doted on his mother. Benjamin had adored her, called her his 'angel'. He was broken after she passed, only finding joy in his son…

Gustave could remember the call from the hospital.

_Sir, there has been an accident._

Erik lived. Benjamin was not as lucky. Gustave and a very pregnant Victoria flew home to California on the next available flight. That was the last time they ever stepped back in New Orleans. It still hurt him to see pictures of the city to this day…

He remembered when Erik was brought out of surgery, half of his face bandaged. He didn't wake up for three days and Gustave never left his side. He made Erik's hospital room his office.

 _Where is my father?_ Gustave still remembered him asking.

Erik was never the same after the accident. The joy and ambition he used to have in his eyes faded. He became dark, bitter, and depressed. Gustave remembered the constant fear of losing Erik he had, especially after the resentment of his family set in. His stepmother only held off on having the funeral until Erik got out of the hospital because of Gustave's pleading. Then the worst happened; the condition Erik's stepmother made in order for him to show his face at the funeral.

"You will wear this. I won't have you scaring the cathedral half to death with this hell born face of yours," she had said. Gustave argued, Erik agreed to the condition. The white mask was made for him. He remembered sitting at the funeral, Erik finally stepping up and walking to the piano to play one final piece for his father.

He took off the mask.

The gasps that rang through the cathedral still haunted Gustave to this day. That killed the last bit of hope and humanity that was in Erik.

After that, Erik left for two weeks. He spent the money he had to his name on nothing good. When Erik finally came home he had passed out as he walked in the front door. He was bruised and bloodied. He never told Gustave what he did in those two weeks. Victoria nursed Erik back to health and Gustave hired lawyers to go after Erik's stepmother who denied Erik his rightful inheritance of his father's company.

They won the court case, but nothing seemed to help Erik. He would leave for days a time. He stopped opening up to Gustave, whenever Gustave tried to talk to him Erik would become cynical and aggressive. Victoria often had to separate the two of them.

This continued until the baby was born; Christine. Erik wasn't home when Victoria went into labor. He didn't go the hospital. He didn't come home until two days after she was born. The night Erik came home, Gustave was holding Christine while Victoria slept on the couch. He just stood in the doorway of the living room, clutching a bottle in his hand.

Erik never even looked at the baby.

The next day, Gustave went to Christine's nursery and found a music box. The melody was one he had heard from Erik's bedroom a million times in the past few weeks. It was his parting gift. That was the last sign of Erik for the past eighteen years, until now.

He flipped a page to see a picture of Victoria and Christine… _Christine._ He threw the albums back into the drawer and locked it up tight. He didn't need her knowing all of these memories. He looked over at the clock; '12:43'. He had been up here for almost five hours.

"Oh, Lotte…" he sighed. He grabbed his bag, still packed from his trip. He pulled out her two gifts, a teddy bear with a British flag, and a new pair of leather gloves for when she went to college in a cold state. He left the office, going towards her room. He stood outside the white door, knocking lightly.

"Yeah?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Lotte, can I come in?" he asked, praying she wouldn't be angry with him for this. There was a hesitation, and he began to think she fell back asleep.

"Yeah, sure," she answered. He opened her door slowly, the dim fairy lights strung along the walls illuminating the room. Christine lay on her side, clutching a pillow next to her chest. Gustave hid the gifts behind his back, as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What's up?" she asked, sitting up slightly.

"I forgot to bring you these." He pulled out the bear and gloves.

She smiled, and giggled at the bear. "Thank you, I think I'm a bit too old for stuffed animals though dad," she laughed.

"Oh really, then why are they still on your bed?" He looked at the few animals that he had brought her from various countries still on her bed. "Perhaps we should get rid of them-"

"No!" she shouted, and Gustave hugged her, holding her close to him. He had missed her dearly. She pulled back slightly, opening the box with the gloves. "Oh dad, these are beautiful." She took them out and ran her hands over the material.

"They'll keep your hands warm in Boston." Her smile faded when he said that. "Christine, you'll have fun at college. Trust me. I'll get you your own apartment, somewhere nice in the commons."

She felt like he was trying to get rid of her. He was either leaving or pushing her away from him. She never understood why. "So, who was on the phone? Work stuff?" she asked, changing the subject.

He inhaled deeply and sighed. "No, actually. An old friend. Someone I haven't spoken to in a long time," Gustave said, patting Christine's knee.

"Do I know them?" she asked, running her fingers over the soft fabric of the bear.

"No, he hasn't been around for a long time. That's why I took the call. I am truly sorry, I know you were looking forward to catching up."

"Its okay, we have the rest of the week." She didn't make eye contact with him, trying to mask her disappointment. "So, is your friend okay?"

"I'm not sure honestly. He has always had some troubles," Gustave said, looking at her. "Lotte, he's going to be staying with us for a bit. Just until he gets back on his feet. He's going to be staying in the guest house, therefore I need you and Meg to get all of your stuff out of there tomorrow when you get home from school." Christine nodded. "I won't lie to you, he isn't exactly pleasant, a bit rough on the outside, but inside he does, in fact, have a heart. It just doesn't show much anymore." His voice was sad, wishing he could have the old Erik back.

"Why?"

"He got in a very bad accident a few months before you were born. That was part of the reason he left. He was never the same after… It tore me apart to say the least-"

"So he knew mom?" Christine asked, her interest clearly showing.

Gustave's jaw tightened. "Yes. This being said, I do not want to you prying at him. He will leave you alone if you leave him alone. He will be polite, I assume. Just, please Christine, don't-"

"Pry. I understand," she said, settling back under the covers, her eyes fading slowly. "What's his name?" She sighed contentedly, pulling the bear close to her chest.

"Erik, Erik Devereux."

"Okay," she said, her eyes fluttering closed, drifting back to sleep.

Gustave chuckled, standing up and pulling the covers higher up on her. "Goodnight, Lotte. Sleep tight." He kissed her temple softly. He left the fairy lights on, closing the door behind him.

"Erik," she whispered, wondering if she was finally going to learn some bit of her father's past that she hadn't known.


	3. Don't Get Too Close

The next night, Gustave sat in his study, the window cracked open as he stared out of it. He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing - he hadn't seen Erik in seventeen years, nearly eighteen, and his call out-of-the blue was unsettling to say the least.

Erik wasn't one to ask for help. He hadn't been back then and Gustave doubted that much had changed in seventeen years. He hadn't had much hope of it then; Erik was pig headed and stubborn. It made him incredibly nervous to think of what trouble he had managed to get himself into, winding up in prison. This was certainly not the way that he had wanted to spend the few relaxing weeks he managed to get at home.

Gustave still wasn't really sure what had gone wrong in the first place. One day Erik had been there and the next he was gone. There was no explanation, note, or call. He had looked for a long while. Every place he thought to search was a dead end - a disconnected phone and an empty house. Eventually Gustave gave up. He had a child that needed him at home and he simply didn't have the time to chase after Erik anymore.

He was taking a risk, a big risk letting him back into his life. Eighteen years, a part of him hoped that Erik had grown up in those years. Prison may have done him some good, finally being punished for an action which wasn't something that happened to Erik all that often from his father with his frequent traveling. The time Erik and his father spent together was catching up and bonding instead of punishing Erik. The closest Erik came to ever being punished was a the occasional lecture or smack to the back of the head from Gustave.

Deep down under all of Eriks negative qualities, Gustave knew there was good to him. There always had been. He was loyal to Gustave, loyal to his father's name up until everything had gone south. Even then, that side of Erik the good side, peaked out at times before it would switch back to spiteful and hating.

Since the day of the accident, Gustave never lost hope. Hope that Erik would come back, and turn back to the Erik he knew before the accident. The sign of Erik asking for help was a step in the right direction. He would try to trust him, he would try to let Erik back in, he would trust him to stay here with Christine. He had to.

"Nothing has changed has it?"

Gustave reeled at the voice, that deep, melodious voice. Gustave shuttered a bit, sighing deeply. The dark timbre Erik had always possessed seemed to just have grown more powerful with age. Turning in his chair, he met the intense green eyes that stared at him.

"Erik..."

"Gustave," he said with a slight nod.

"It's been a long time, my friend," Gustave said, standing up from his chair and getting a better view of him. He hadn't changed much. Dark clothing, piercing eyes, pale skin, the only thing was his hair being swept back from his face… how his father used to wear his, instead of the shaggy mess, or the short cuts Erik used to have many years ago. The other new thing was the sleeve of tattoos on his right side. A mass of skulls, flames, flowers, and writings. The last time Gustave had seen him Erik only had the cross on his right bicep with the rosary around it. He had gotten it for his mother when he turned eighteen.

"I still have that title? I thought it would've gone with me."

"You never lost it." There was a thick silence between the two, neither knowing where to start, what boundaries to push and set.

"How have you been?"

"Come now Gustave, let's not waste our breath on pleasantries. You've never been one to beat around the bush with me." Erik said with a dark chuckle, shaking his head and looking around the office. His eyes landed on the picture of Victoria and Gustave on their wedding day. Gustave knew that look of questioning on his face.

"Alright. Let's start with the ground rules-"

"Oh rules, you know how well those have fared in the past with me," Erik mused, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, looking back at Gustave.

"This isn't going to be a free for all like it used to be. I have a life, a job, and a daughter. You will not be having an affect on any of it. You will listen to my rules if you are to stay under my roof. Am I clear?" Gustave said firmly, making Erik understood where he now stood, where his place is.

"Yes sir," Erik said bringing his fingers to his forehead and giving a salute. His sarcasm certainly had not left him. He would have died without it.

"No drugs, at all. Not in the house, not on the property-'

"So no pot?" Erik asked with a smirk and raised brow, remembering the times years ago when the two would spend hours with joints in hand, talking about anything and everything.

"No weed. That's a drug."

"It's California, its legal-"

"Erik, you are not starting off well."

"Fine, no weed. Go on," Erik said, striding over to the couch. The same spot where he always used to sit, when they had a rare occasional talk after they had moved into the house. Erik looked down for a moment, realizing it was the same spot. He cleared his throat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket.

"No smoking in the house."

"You're hilarious." Erik took one out of the pack, bringing it to his lips, and reaching for his lighter. He flicked the lighter open, reaching it to the end, only to have it ripped out of his mouth. If it were anyone else, he would have strangled them, but it was Gustave.

"I said no fucking smoking in my house." He crumpled the cigarette in his hand as he stalked over to the trash and tossed it away.

"Really? Did you seriously quit? You used to be a human chimney!" Erik said with a grin.

"Yes, I would prefer to not die of lung cancer if I can avoid it."

"If you haven't noticed, I don't give a shit. I'll die sooner or later." Erik scoffed.

"Enough of that," Gustave snapped, thinking of the fact that he had thought until a day ago Erik could have been dead. He had two people in his life that he cared about; Mama Valerius, and Christine. Now that Erik was back there were suddenly three. He then asked, "Do you have a girlfriend? Fiancée? Wife? Crazy ex wife?"

Erik snorted. "You flatter me."

"Good. No women in the house."

"You're kidding," Erik said in disbelief.

"No, get a hotel room if you need to." Gustave remembered the mornings that he and Victoria would be sitting in the living room back in New Orleans only to see a different girl every week, sometimes two, wander out of his bedroom and leave the apartment half dressed; sometimes they were caught by Mama who would force them to stay so she could feed them, mortifying Erik as he was forced to sit down for a meal with them.

"Fine."

"And lastly, leave Christine alone. She needs to focus on school and going to college. You will not discourage her from college or music."

"Why on Earth would I discourage her from music?" he scoffed, his brow furrowing.

"Because, I know you gave it up. You dropped out-"

"I wasn't given a choice! I had to leave that behind. I wanted to be a composer and producer like you!" he said harshly, the tension building between the two quickly. "I did go to college, Gustave. I switched to architecture. I had to run a company as a twenty year old. I had no choice-"

"And you ran the company into the ground. I read the papers, Erik. You could have hired someone else to run it. I understand that you wanted to continue your father's legacy but-"

"You wouldn't understand the situation-"

"Then explain it to me."

Erik's uncovered jaw visibly tensed up, as Gustave leaned up against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "It isn't important," Erik snapped.

That was the obvious cue to leave it. As much as Gustave wanted to know, he didn't want Erik running off again. He had just gotten him back; bitter as ever, but he was back for now. "Fine. I'll drop it. Just limit the interaction with her. Please. I travel a lot for work, she isn't used to having another person in the house-"

"I will not bother her. She won't even know I'm here." Gustave looked at him skeptically. "You have my word," Erik muttered, breaking their eye contact.

"Very well. That is all." Gustave stood up, walking over to the couch where Erik sat. "Welcome home, Erik." He extended a hand. Erik merely looked at him, then finally reached out and took it. Gustave huffed a laugh, a glimmer of hope igniting in his heart. He was back. It was the first step. "So, you're gonna stay in the guest house." Gustave waved Erik to follow him.

"Damn, not my old room?" he complained.

"No, Christine moved in there. It's bigger." Gustave opened the office door, leading to the white painted hallways. "However, some of your old stuff, records, posters, etcetera, are in the attic. Your violin is in there as well, if you're interested."

"I'll take a look," he said, following behind him, looking at the walls, covered in pieces of art. The two men walked in silence through the rest of the house towards the back door. Erik felt as if he had never left; the same layout, some of the same furniture, the same painted walls. Gustave had changed nothing. They walked out of the house and onto the patio, the only new thing along with the pool, deck, and fire pit.

"Meg, knock it off! Stop throwing clothes at me!" Christine ran out of the guest house, her arms full of clothing, books, nail polish, and other various items. A bra flew out of the slider door, and she watched it fall, landing in front of a man's feet. She looked at the pink bra that half rested on the black dress shoes, her gaze following up to two long legs, a lean torso, boney fingers that belonged to hand with a scorpion tattooed on it leading to a arm with a sleeve of tattoos and finally, landing on the face that looked down at his feet. The white half mask caught her attention first, then the green eye, and then a sharp jawline.

"Christine, meet Erik," Gustave said with a sigh, bringing his fingers up and massaging his temples. "Erik, you remember my daughter, Christine."

Christine's cheek flushed with embarrassment as Erik bent down and picked up her bra with two fingers. He didn't look directly at her as he extended his hand towards her, holding out the bra. "I believe this is yours."

She felt her body tremble at the sound of his deep, smooth voice, her cheeks turning a brighter red as she reached out and took it from his hands. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you," she said, her voice quivering slightly. She didn't make eye contact with him but she could feel his intense eyes staring at her after a moment.

"Christine, are these yours or mine?" Meg raced out the doors, blonde hair frizzing from the humidity, with her arms full of the sheets off of the guest bed, and a pair of purple lacy underwear in her hand.

"Ladies! Can you discuss this another time?" Gustave said over the girlish chattering, obviously feeling the discomfort that was radiating off of Erik.

"Oh, hi! I'm Meg Giry." Meg walked over to Erik fearlessly, extending a hand. He looked at her blankly, then slowly reached out and took her palm in his. Meg smiled at him, then stepped away, turning back to Christine with raised brows.

"Is everything all cleaned up in there? I'm sure Erik wants to get himself settled," Gustave grumbled.

"Yeah, we just stripped the bed. The new sheets should be clean soon," Christine mumbled, still looking at her feet.

"Good. When they're clean, put the bed together for Erik, please." He then turned to Erik. "Please, get yourself settled, and I would enjoy it if you joined us for dinner."

"I wouldn't want to intrude. I am sure your daughter would like to spend time with you," he said, turning his attention back to Christine who he could feel looking at him. He met her eyes and and she blinked rapidly, embarrassed to be caught.

"Nonsense! She wouldn't mind, would you, Christine?" Gustave asked, walking over and wrapping his arms around her small shoulders.

"Of course not," she mumbled, avoiding Erik's eyes again.

"I'm afraid that I am not very hungry…" Erik said, hoping to get out of it. His eyes were trained on Christine as she stared down at her feet.

"Jesus Christ, Erik, just come sit at the table then." Gustave smiled good naturedly. "What about you, Meg? I know you're hungry."

"Always am, Papa Daae, but mom's expecting me for dinner," she said, looking Erik over. "And I think that dinner's gonna be ready pretty soon so I should probably just, uh, go now."She turned on her heel, disappearing back into the guest house. When she came back it was with a backpack slung over her shoulder, the underwear mysteriously missing. "I'll see you tomorrow, Chris. And I'm sure I'll see you around, Gustave," she said, pausing as she looked at Erik. "And it was nice meeting you, Rick."

"... Erik," he corrected.

"Right, sorry - I'll remember it eventually," she said with a grin. She was gone with a halfhearted wave, walking around the side of the house.

"She seems… nice," Erik offered, somehow more uncomfortable than he had been when Christine's bra landed on his foot.

"That's Meg," Gustave said with a grin. "Sweet girl, a little odd. Come on, I'll show you the guest house."

They left Christine standing alone on the patio. She didn't miss the way that Erik glanced back at her, turning his head quickly when he realized she was still watching him.

Christine made her way into the main house, kicking her flip-flops off by the back door and making her way for the stairs. The new car in the driveway caught her eye - a black and shiny Audi, almost like it had just gone through a car wash and had a fresh wax. He obviously had money.

Distracted, she made her way to the front door, looking through the narrow glass window beside it. There he came, walking around the house and using the remote in his hand to pop the trunk. Despite his imposing height, the way that he moved was oddly...graceful. She found herself staring, as he made his way down the driveway and reached into the trunk. He caught her eye as he stood back up and closed the trunk, staring at her for a moment. The half smile that he gave her was only really noticeable due to the shift of the white mask that covered half of his face.

She looked away quickly, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught. Again. They were off to a fantastic start, she thought sarcastically.

Erik made his way awkwardly through the back door. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat down for a dinner with Gustave - it had been nearly two decades. It was odd when he really took the time to think about it.

"... what I said, Christine," Erik heard Gustave say. He paused in the living room, just out of the sight of the occupants in the dining room.

"I know, dad," Christine said, softly. "Don't pry. I won't. I won't even ask him a single question."

Erik straightened his v-neck, taking three steps backwards and walking around to the other side of the couch, entering the dining room from a different angle.

"So you decided to join us," Gustave said, standing from where he sat and gesturing at the seat to his right. "Sit down; are you finally hungry?"

Erik looked over the takeout boxes on the table. "Can't say that I am," he answered, pulling the chair out and trying to ignore the fact that Gustave had sat him directly across from his daughter. Looking at her reminded him greatly of Victoria. The ringlets of wild hair, brown instead of blonde, though, and bright blue eyes, gentle features. She was beautiful…

"Well, maybe you'll change your mind," Gustave said, opening a container of chips and reaching to the side, popping the lid open on a cup of salsa. "Most authentic Mexican food in the area. You should really try it, Erik. You always liked Mexican food."

"Mexican food hasn't appealed to me for a few years now," he said. "But please, enjoy. I'm really not hungry."

He watched as Christine opened another box, pulling out a single taco. Gustave crunched on a chip, looking between the two of them.

"Christine, has Mr. Reyer still been giving you a hard time?" Gustave asked awkwardly, turning his attention to her.

"Always does," she said, staring at her plate. The silence lapsed and Gustave shifted in his seat.

"Well, alrighty then. Erik, I noticed the Audi. It's a nice car. When did you get it?" Gustave tried.

One corner of Erik's mouth lifted in a smile. "I stole it about a week ago. Straight off the lot. It's shocking how easily they hand the keys over, really."

Gustave blinked at him and Christine laughed, covering it with a cough when her dad whipped his head over to look at her. "Sorry," she said. "These tacos are really dry."

"Well, there's salsa right there. Maybe you should try it," Erik said, daring to glance at her as he nudged the container across the table toward her.

"I don't like spicy things," she said. "Thank you though."

"Pity, that," he said. "You're missing out on a lot."

Gustave cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "Well, it's certainly nice to see you again, Erik. To be honest I was starting to fear the worst."

"What, that I was dead?" Erik asked, looking over at his friend.

"It has been nearly eighteen years. It's good to see you alive and mostly well."

"Pity that, too," Erik answered flatly. "Wasn't Victoria going to paint this room lilac?" He looked over the plain white walls.

He heard Gustave's sharp inhale.

"You knew my mom?" The question wavered from across the table, meek and mild.

Erik looked up at her, half ready to answer her question before Gustave cut her off. "Christine, enough," he said harshly.

Silence settled over the room. Christine stared into her plate and Gustave broke a chip in half, staring at the cracked pieces. Erik was completely confused - apparently he had hit a nerve that he hadn't even been aiming for. He slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing down at the time.

"No phones at the table," Gustave said, breaking the silence.

Erik cocked his eyebrow, looking at Gustave. "I am a thirty eight year old man. I'm allowed to have my phone."

Christine choked, coughing as she set her water down, covering her mouth with her arm. "I meant - meant to swallow, not breathe," she choked out as both men stared at her.

"That happen to you often?" Erik asked.

She shook her head, too busy coughing to give any sort of proper answer. Her face was beet red and for a minute Erik was actually concerned. But her coughs faded, her breathing went back to normal and the color slowly faded from her cheeks, replaced by the same awkward silence.

It was the ring of Gustave's phone that broke the silence. Erik watched as he slid the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. "I have to take this," he said apologetically. "I'll just be a minute."

"No phones at the table, Gustave."

"Oh, shut up," Gustave said, weakly slapping the back of Erik's head as he got up and made for the stairs.

Erik stared after him in surprise, and when he finally looked back across the table it was to find Christine staring at the taco she had hardly taken two bites out of.

"Is there something wrong with it?" he asked.

"What?"

"The taco," he clarified. "You're looking at it like it offended you."

"No, it's fine," she said, a sad smile playing at her lips. "They really are good. You should try one."

"I've had quite enough Mexican for one lifetime," he answered, leaning back in his chair and watching her as she lifted the taco up, taking another small bite.

She chewed thoughtfully, staring absently at her plate. She swallowed and peeked up at him. "Did you really steal the car?" she asked innocently.

It was his turn to laugh. "No. I didn't steal it."

"Oh," she said softly. There was silence for a long while before she pushed her chair out, stacking the two untouched plates beneath hers.

"Are you done?" he asked in surprise, looking at the half-eaten taco on her plate.

She chewed the inside of her lip and shrugged. "I'm not very hungry either."

"You think your dad's done too?" he asked as she closed the boxes and started to stack them on the table.

"By the time he comes back it'll be cold anyway," she sighed, stacking the little containers of salsa.

Erik stood up, taking the stack of boxes. "Let me help you."

"You don't have to. You're our guest."

"I am, but it does not mean I can't lend you a hand," he said, moving ahead of her and into the kitchen. He set the boxes on the island counter and opened the refrigerator only to find a collection of similar boxes. He said nothing, sliding the new boxes in wherever he could fit them. He glanced over at her, watching as she rinsed the still-clean plates in the sink. "Are you not allowed to talk about your mother?"

She froze and blinked twice. It was her sigh that seemed to bring her back to life. She reached over and opened the dishwasher. "Dad doesn't like to talk about her," she explained quietly. "He says that it hurts too much."

"You must've been, what, three?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "I was. How long did you know her?"

"I met her when I was -"

"Christine," Gustave interrupted as he walked into the kitchen. "Lotte, I have bad news."

"What is it?" she asked, rearranging the dishes in the dishwasher as she avoided looking at him.

"I have to leave - it - it's an emergency, Christine. I have to leave tomorrow night."

She sighed, finally looking up at him, obviously trying to mask her devastation. "So you won't be here for my birthday. They can't wait two days?"

"They can't. I won't be," he said softly. "But when I get home we are going to celebrate it whatever way you want to - I promise."

Erik shifted awkwardly, closing the door on the refrigerator. It felt an awful lot like he was standing in the middle of a scene he had no place in. Gustave stood with his back to him and he could see the way that Christine pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering.

"It's okay," she said, forcing a hollow, fake smile to her face. "I understand."

"Next year," Gustave said. "I promise I'll be here for your birthday next year, emergencies be damned."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I have some work to do in my office," Gustave said, looking at Erik like he had only just realized he was still there. "I'll be up there if you need anything. If either of you need anything."

"I'm all set - I should really start unpacking," Erik said awkwardly.

Christine crossed her arms over her chest. "And I should - I should really get started on my homework. It's getting late."

Christine shut the dishwasher and trailed out behind Gustave, leaving Erik standing alone in the middle of the kitchen. He suddenly understood why he had been exiled to the guest house. It all felt so remarkably intrusive. He double checked that the dishwasher was closed and flipped the lights off in the kitchen, making his way back to the guest house to start unpacking.

He was down to the last suitcase when a knock came on the sliding glass door. Christine was standing there in a tank top and basketball shorts, folded sheets in her arms, and he slid the door open for her.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I was getting ready to lay down and I remembered that you have no sheets - I completely forgot."

"It's fine," he answered, reaching for the sheets. "I wouldn't have even noticed for a few hours - I know where the laundry room is."

He took the sheets from her arms, freezing when his eyes inadvertently landed on her breast, able to see her hardened nipple from the chill of the room. He could nearly make out the pink color through the stretched white fabric of her tank top. His mouth went dry and he forced his eyes to her face, shifting the sheets in his arms.

"Come in," he said, stepping back from the doorway. "It'll be twice as fast if you help me make it."

She took his invitation without a second thought, walking through the doorway and shivering at the cold temperature inside. "Don't you freeze in here?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing at them.

"I don't think I've been here long enough to have too many complaints," he said, leading the way down the short hallway and into the bedroom. He set the sheets on top of the dresser, pulling the fitted sheet from the bottom of the stack.

He tossed a corner of the sheet across the bed. It was when she bent down to tuck it under the mattress that his heart leapt into his throat. He tucked his side under the mattress, staring into the gap between her tank top and her skin. As much as he tried to convince himself to look away he just couldn't seem to manage it - his mind was far too busy filling in the gaps of what he couldn't see. They walked along the edge of the bed together, tucking the sheet as they went.

When the fitted sheet was on she turned to grab the regular sheet from the top of the dresser. She was short enough that she had to lean forward on her toes. She reached and the tank top pulled up just the slightest bit, exposing a sliver of skin to his eyes just along the top of the waistband of the basketball shorts she wore. She knocked the pillowcases onto the floor and Erik swallowed as she bent over to pick them up - even in the loose shorts he could make out the defined shape of her behind.

When she stood back up she turned and caught his eye - he watched a blush spread over her cheeks and suddenly he was nauseous. "I can handle the rest myself," he said gruffly. She's your best friends daughter. No, leave her alone. Now, his mind screamed at him. He was disgusting. Eight years, eight fucking years in federal prison and now he was looking at the first pretty face to give him attention as a conquest. No. Not her.

"I came to make the bed," she argued, biting her lip and looking down at the sheets in her arms. "I mean, I can fini-"

"You should go," he said firmly. "I think I can handle making a bed myself."

"I didn't mean - I'm sorry," she said, flustered. She set the sheet in her arms on the edge of the bed and crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest.

"You know the way out," he grumbled, walking forward and taking the sheets from her. The tips of his fingers touching the soft fabric of her tank top.

She just stood there motionless, confused on what she had done wrong. He seemed…not nice, that wasn't the right word. Decent. He seemed decent to her earlier, at the table, and helping her with the dishes. But now... She brushed her hair behind her ears, feeling them turn red.

"Are you deaf?" he asked arrogantly, walking towards her, motioning for her to leave. She shook her head, her eyes wide, deep blue eyes filled with confusion. She set the rest of the bed sheets on the dresser and left slowly.

He held in a breath until he heard the closing of the slider door before heavily exhaling. She didn't deserve him being an ass to her. The poor girl was already going through difficulties; having her already mostly-absent father not be there for her birthday, and now him, a stranger, invading her home.

He finished making the bed and ran his fingers through his hair, craving a cigarette. He grabbed his pack and lighter from where he had set them in the small kitchen and went outside. Lighting the butt, he went for the patio chair, only stopping when he saw Christine sitting there and staring up at the night sky.

"What are you doing?" he asked impatiently, wanting to be alone, especially not around her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. "Um- looking at the stars," she stuttered, pointing up.

"Why?" he snapped, then taking a deep drag and holding it in.

"They're really pretty..."

He looked up, following her gaze. It had been far too long since he was able to look at the night sky. He used to do it when he was her age, sitting on the roof or porch in Gustave's apartment on nights he had spent there. He recalled the nights leaving the construction sights underground in Mexico and into the desert, to see the all the stars...it was soothing.

"You should be inside," he grumbled. "It's late. Your father wouldn't want you out here." He sat at the furthest chair away from her.

"He doesn't care," she muttered, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. "I do it all the time when he's away."

Erik took another long drag of his cigarette, and after a while he felt Christine staring at him again. "What?" he finally snapped, his jaw clenching after he exhaled.

"You shouldn't smoke, it's bad for you."

"Funny, I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter. Did I?"

She flinched. "I'm sorry," she whispered, voice barely audible.

He stared at the pool, at the soft ripples of water from the evening breeze, trying to direct his focus on anything but her. He listened. The soft chirping of crickets in the distance and the light whooshes of wind relaxed him somewhat, and he leaned further into the chair, raising the cigarette to his lips again. And then, as he listened to the sounds of nature around him, he heard her softly begin to hum to herself. Truth be told, he didn't mind it. She had a soothing, soft voice. He listened closer, staying silent, until he began to recognize the melody.

He had written it for her before she was born. It was the music that played from the music box he had created, the one he had left the night he'd gone…

She needed to leave. Now.

"Must you?" he growled, desperate for her to leave him be. "Do you have something against the quiet?"

She only looked at him, obviously hurt before she stood. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you…" she sniffed.

Oh, god, did he make her cry? Crying women was nothing new to Erik, but he had not wanted to make the poor girl cry. He just wanted separation between them.

"Goodnight, Erik," she whimpered, before quickly turning and running back into the house.


	4. Angels and Demons

She hated it, the goodbyes, her father hugging her tightly. He would tell her that he would call that night, as soon as he landed. He often did, sometimes he forgot but she knew he was busy. Gustave had taken an afternoon flight instead of the night one he claimed to taking the day before. She remembered him coming in during the night and kissing her forehead, telling her he was leaving sooner than expected. No matter, it still hurt deeply.

She hadn't seen Erik since last night. His car wasn't in the driveway when she had walked up the driveway from Raoul dropping her off. Raoul, well he was angry to say the least. He had guilt tripped her during their lunch period today. They sat in the shade under a tree in the outside cafeteria area as he held her to him far too tightly.

"Lotte, if you're dad was just coming home for a few hours why didn't you just come with us instead?" He asked while taking a sip of his water.

"Raoul, I really needed to see him. I mean, you could have joined us for dinner, I would have loved it if you were there-"

"And miss the opening? Jeez, thanks for trying to pry me away from something you knew I was fucking excited for."

"I'm sorry, Raoul," she whispered. She started picking at her now cold fries, only to have them taken out of her hand.

"Stop eating those, eat the salad you bought. You don't need to gain anymore weight," he grumbled. She was silent after that. She didn't even say anything when he took the silver flask out of his backpack, pouring it into his drink. It wasn't worth the argument. He drank more often than not. The smell on his breath was always a dead give away. Those days she tried her hardest to come up with an excuse to take the bus home with Meg just to be cautious. She did that day, telling him she needed to help Meg with a chemistry project.

"Yeah, he was drinking at lunch," Christine sighed as they sprawled out on the living room floor after school, each of them on their phones.

"Christine, you really need to talk to someone about it. He could get hurt and I don't want you being with someone who could put you in danger-"

"I know Meg, its just-"

"Chris, I could talk to Phil about it when he comes home from France in a week. Tell him that you're concerned-"

"No!" She interrupted, shooting up to the sitting position, looking at Meg absolutely terrified, "Raoul would kill me! He- he trusts me. Meg pl- please dont tell Phil-" The familiar shaking breaths returned to her and Meg noticed, sitting up and grabbing her hand.

"Okay, okay, Chris breathe. I won't tell a soul," Meg said softly, trying to soothe the obvious panic attack that was storming inside of her best friend. "Breathe Chris," Meg whispered, feeling the slight tremble in Christine's hand.

Both girls were so caught up that they didn't notice the silent figure standing at the sliding door. Erik had heard the whole conversation, assuming Raoul must be the boyfriend of Christine. An alcoholic eighteen year old. It didn't sound much different from him at that age, but he could stop whenever he wanted to at that point. He wasn't a full blown alcoholic until after the accident.

He turned on his heel back to the guest house, forgetting the reason he had even gone inside in the first place. He did feel pity for the her, desperately trying to protect her boyfriend and his addictions. However stupid it was, she seemed loyal to him. Returning to his small living room, he pulled out his phone, half tempted to text Gustave and tell him of this newly acquired information. He opened the new message, and stopped. _Why should I care? It's her stupid decision to date him. She's almost a woman, she can fend for herself…_ he thought to himself. He turned off his phone, sliding it back into his pocket. It wasn't his business.

* * *

That night Christine sat in her room doing homework, final essays, and projects for the bittersweet end of her senior year. She was excited to graduate in a few weeks, it was the start of her own life. She could make her own decisions, but there still was this underlying fear in the back of her mind at all times. What was she going to do with her life? College? Was she going to follow her father's expectations? She understood his reasoning; he just wanted her to live a successful life.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud thud from the hallway. Her eyes went wide with fear. It was silent again after that and she tried to turn her attention back to her project. She was alone in the house as always, right? Then another loud thud followed by footsteps. Her heart began to race. There was someone in the house

She found herself reaching under her bed, kneeling over papers to grab the baseball bat that she kept under her bed for precaution. Ever so slowly she climbed off her bed and crept towards the door. She turned the door knob gently, feeling the tremble in her fingers beginning. She grabbed onto it, taking a deep breath and shakily exhaling,

"Come on Christine, be brave." She whispered to herself, before swinging her door open and bringing the bat up into a ready to swing position. Then she saw the culprit, staring back at her as he held onto the door going to the attic. She wasn't alone. Erik was here. He stared at her, then his eyes traced over the baseball bat that she gripped tightly,

"... may I help you, Christine?" he asked, obviously trying to hide his amusement at the tiny girl in front of him ready to swing a baseball bat at him.

"I- I forgot that I was um- I wasn't alone in the house anymore," she said, her cheeks turning bright red with embarrassment at how foolish she probably looked.

"Ah, an intruder. Were you going to beat them to death with a bat, then?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, a low chuckle following as he leaned back against the wall.

"I don't know… I guess?" she said, now beginning to question what she would actually do if someone had intruded on the house when she was alone.

"Hmm, your father should give you a pistol instead," he grumbled. "A bat takes an extraordinary amount of force - pretty dirty too."

"Dad doesn't like guns. He says they kill people, and-"

"Of course-" he paused, studying the bat in her hands. "Is that _my_ baseball bat?" he questioned, looking at the black wooden bat in her hands. He uncrossed his arms and took a few steps further, and noticed how her grip tightened again. "Do. Not. Hit. Me with the bat." He standing right in front of her, slowly reaching up and taking it from her hands. It was his bat.

"Did you play baseball?" she asked, bringing her hands to her upper arms and rubbing them nervously.

"No. I didn't play sports unless little league when I was seven counts," he scoffed, looking over the bat for his initials that he had carved into it one day.

"Than why did you have a bat?" she asked, looking at her feet.

"Because you're father and I used to play- well we used to get drunk and try to play at the park down the street from here. Gustave can't pitch for shit when he drinks," he huffed, remembering how they would take a bucket of balls and a bottle of whiskey and stay there for hours on end. He looked back at Christine who had a smirk on her face. Her soft pink lips pulling into an eventual smile, similar to how Victorias used to. "Where did you find this?"

"The attic… there's a bunch of old stuff up there-"

"Show me." he interrupted, putting the bat down and leaning it against the wall outside her bedroom door. She squeezed past him going towards the attic door, feeling his eyes following her every move. She heard his light footsteps as they walked up the stairs together, the smell of dust heavy in the air.

"Where did you find the bat?" he asked, looking around at all the boxes and various items. She pointed to the far corner, seeing moving tubs stacked on top of eachother and a record player with a thick layer of dust over it. He went to the stack, seeing his name written in cursive on the box, Victoria's handwriting. He opened it, seeing his old hardcover classic books inside. He smirked to himself, running his fingers over the binding of the books, _War and Peace, Moby Dick, Julius Caesar, Romeo and Juliet,_ they were all here, and many more. He picked up the box, moving it to the floor beside him. Leaning down he saw the case of his violin, his graduation present from Gustave. Perhaps he would pick that up again.

The next box was records and CD's. On top was his favorite, David Bowie's _Ziggy Stardust_ one of his all time favorites. Next to it was AC/DC _Back In Black,_ Queen's _A Day At The Races,_ and The Rolling Stones _Beggars Banquet._ He chucked to himself, hoping that they would still play after all these years if he could fix up the record player. He alway prefered the sound of it over the metallic sound of his phone. Next to it was stacks of his compositions, notes scribbled in his messy handwriting. The one on top was labeled _Angel of Music_ , the last thing he wrote for… Christine. The melody that played on the music box he had left for her the night he left.

He could still remember, he was packed and ready to flee. To leave Gustave, Victoria and their newborn. They had no more need for him and his messes to interfere with their happy family. The last thing he had to do was leave his parting gift. The past few weeks there was a beautiful melody that wouldn't leave his mind. He knew the reason, he knew what he had to do. He had constructed a music box, inserting the melody to play.

He had gone into the her bedroom that night, trying to be as silent as could be as he crept to the dresser in the corner of her bedroom. She was supposed to be his goddaughter; he refused the offer, creating the argument of a lifetime between him and Gustave. Victoria had to separate the men before Gustave strangled him or Erik smacked Gustave. Their final fight. That was the situation that spurred the idea of them leaving the behind.

He hadn't even looked at the baby, never had seen her face. One look couldn't hurt, he had decided. He peered over her crib to see beautiful, sparking blue eyes staring back at him. She was wrapped up in a pink blanket, until she reached up for him, letting out a little mewl of sound.

"Shh, you're okay angel, you're okay," he cooed at her. She reached higher for him, and he reached down into her crib, letting her grasp onto his finger, gripping it gently. He smiled, looking at her and the way her tiny body writhed to be free of the confines of the blanket. He reached his other hand down, unwrapping her gently not wanting her to begin to cry, "Oh, Christine…" he sighed, this sudden regret of leaving this family, his family behind. Feeling this protective instinct over her grow. Then he remembered that he couldn't be here. This little girl deserved her parents full attention, not having them distracted and worried about him…

He let her hold his finger until she drifted back to sleep, just letting him look at her. He slid his finger from her small hand, and took one last glance at her before he tuned, winding up the music box and left her to sleep. He didn't leave a note, he didn't call, nothing. He never thought of her again till he heard of Victoria's death…

"Erik?" She asked, still standing in the doorway of the attic,

"What?" He said gently, turning around to see those same blue eyes looking at him curiously. The curls of her hair framing her gentle features and pale skin, she was gorgeous- no. No. It was _wrong_ to even look at her in that way.

"I- I'm gonna go back to my homework-"

"Shut the door on your way out," he snapped, feeling the need to be away from her returning again.

"Oh- um, yeah. Night Erik," she said, turning and walking down the stairs away from him.

* * *

Christine sat in her bedroom, not able to focus on her homework. She couldn't help but wonder about him, wonder about what he was thinking about while he looked at the items in the attic. She heard laughs and sighs from him, she wasn't even entirely sure that he knew he was making the noises. She wanted to know why he left. Did he and her father have a fight? Was it because he found someone? Was it because of her mother? All these questions and she didn't know where to begin to look for answers. She couldn't pry. She promised her father that she wouldn't.

She looked back at the papers in front of her while desperately trying to keep her tired eyes open.

"Okay, the Count of Monte Cristo was a fictional work author-" she was cut off by a melody playing from out her window. A soft, gentle melody- then she recognized it. It was the melody from her music box.

She climbed to the edge of her bed, heading towards the window that faced out to the back yard. It was too dark to see a thing, or even try for that matter. The melody played on, as if a ghost were trying to trick her into believing there was a concert happening in her backyard. Her father used to play this melody for her when she was a little girl. She hadn't heard it in almost ten years. She could almost hear the sound of her mother's voice singing to her;

" _Angel of music, guide and guardian_

_Grant to me your glory_

_Angel of music hide no longer_

_Secret and strange angel_

_Angel of music, my protector_

_Come to me strange angel"_

She didn't even realize that she had began to sing to herself, not thinking about who may have been listening, who may have been playing. The music stopped suddenly. She shook her head, thinking the melody was all in her head, she was just exhausted.

" _I am your angel of music,_

_Come to me angel of music,"_

She was exhausted, she was hearing things, nobody was in the house. Erik was in the guest house, but there was nobody here. It was all in her head, but she couldn't help the goosebumps that rose on her skin, and the shiver that ran down her spine.

Then it began again, something she didn't recognize. It was frenzied and dark, intoxicating even… No. She needed sleep. Shutting her window, she turned around and began to change for bed, not realizing the music had stopped as soon as she shut it.

* * *

With a bit of tuning and new strings that he found by rooting through some items in Gustave's music room the violin played like he had never put it down. He had truly missed his music without a doubt, he regretted leaving behind some of his compositions when he was arrested, not that he had a choice to take them with him. The raid had not been gentle on him. He had two broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a fractured collar bone from when he had finally been caught in the tunnels of underground Mexico…. It was not a fond memory of his.

He sat outside in the dark, puffing on a cigarette simply staring at the violin. He no doubt would be rusty after eight years. The only instrument he had been allowed to access in prison was a cheap piano when he was well behaved, not causing fights and such was a normal occurrence.

Erik stubbed out the but of his cigarette in the ashtray he had bought earlier in the day, not wanting to be scolded like a child for making a mess on the patio by Gustave who seemed to still treat him like a troublesome younger brother. He picked up the violin, not sure what the hell he wanted to play, but he remembered seeing the sheet music for the music box. He could still remember it f he tried hard enough, and slowly he moved the bow with ease across the strings. The melody fell into place, as if he had never forgotten it…

" _Angel of music, guide and guardian…"_

He could hear it, someone singing to his music. Someone who clearly knew the words… _Christine._ Her voice, it was pure and light, but there was a certain untrained beauty to it. He certainly had heard her humming the night before, prior to him snapping at her, but this was different.

He kept going, hearing the way her voice never faltered, and never had forgotten the lyrics. He remembered Victoria catching him scribbling them down one night in this very yard. She had tried to talk to him, while sitting down or at least trying to with her very pregnant stomach creating an issue. She tried pry out of him what he was working on, and he refused to tell her. Victoria was stubborn, very stubborn. She was relentless in trying to get him to talk to her. He had finally snapped.

"Damn you Victoria, can you not give me an inch of privacy anymore? For once can you not pry at me?" he seethed in anger and annoyance. His expression only softened when he saw the tears begin to well in her eyes,

"What's happened to you Erik? You used to tell me everything, more than Gustave at times-"

"I grew up. I'm not a child, I am not your child, your brother or anything of the sort. I get it, you're pregnant and want everything to be your way-" she slapped him. She had almost slapped the mask off of his wretched face. He remembered clenching his fist, only releasing it when he heard the sound of Gustave coming in the front door from work. He regretted it. He hated himself for acting that way towards her. Those were the last words he ever said to her.

As his emotions changed, so did his music. It changed into something he wrote in Mexico, on a night he did not like to remember… The night he had killed someone for the first time. One shot to the back of the head. It was clean and simple. All these memories flowing back to him, through his music. It was too much. He stopped his playing.

He placed the violin on the table, and ran his now shaking fingers through his hair. He kept reminding himself to breath, it was the past. Over fifteen years ago, there was no need to open up old wounds. He found himself needing a drink, he arched his back looking at the night sky while stretching only to have his eyes land on a light coming from a bedroom. His old bedroom- Christine's bedroom. There he saw her, just as she took of her shirt and reached behind to unhook her bra. He couldn't pull his eyes away, he couldn't. Perky breasts were exposed to his eyes as she stretched her arms over her head. The familiar feeling of his mouth going dry had returned, for the first time since he was released he was seeing a naked woman in front of him. Not just any naked woman, her, his best friends seventeen- oh fuck it her birthday was tomorrow, eighteen year old daughter. It was so _wrong_ for him to be staring at her like this, but he just couldn't look away. The way her dark curls cascaded down her pale, slender body. Finally she reached down, his brain prayed it was to pick up a shirt, and his more demanding loin prayed it was just going to expose more of her to him.

"Fuck," he mumbled to himself as she pulled down the shorts she was wearing and turned around. He was right the night before, she had a perfectly defined ass. He felt the fabric of his pants begin to constrict tightly, uncomfortably. No. He wouldn't, not with her on his mind. He needed a drink, and a freezing, arctic cold shower. Yes, that's what he needed. He needed to shower, drink, and not think about her in the slightest.


	5. Slow Burn

Erik had spent the day shopping, his worst fucking nightmare. Clothes, medicine for his face, toiletries, food, and weed. Gustave was away, he wouldn't know, he wouldn't find out. He had drive two hours away a dispensary, spending four hundred dollars there. All the strains and variations making him feel like a kid in a toy store. In total, he had probably spent a few thousand dollars throughout the day, it wouldn't hurt him. He still had his pay off from Mexico in a bank account, all he had to do this morning was get a new card and spend, and spend he did. Two new suits he had to pick up at the tailors in a few days, jeans, black shirts, and dress shoes among his newly acquired clothes.

He found himself craving his bed. While in prison and lacking drugs he found himself appreciating sleep even more than ever. He lit a new cigarette as he pulled off his exit on the highway, and finding himself wondering what Christine was doing for her eighteenth birthday. No doubt she would most likely be off to a friends house or out for the night. The girl had the dream set up in all honesty, he father always being away and nobody to share the house with. He remembered his eighteenth birthday, he had spent the evening at some girls house. He couldn't for the life of him remember her name, but could remember being chased out of her house.

He was half dressed, desperately trying to find his left shoe as he heard footsteps coming from the hallway right outside her bedroom. The door had swung open to show the girls father, a rifle in his hands. Erik jumped out the window. No left shoe, no shirt, and his belt somewhere on her bedroom floor. He climbed down the roof, and began running down the street for his life. He rounded the corner of her street, hearing her father yelling for him from the girl's window. He kept running, pulling his phone from his back pocket and flipping it open to call Gustave.

"Pick up, fucking pick up," he muttered breathlessly, still running as the phone rang.

"Erik?" He answered.

"Where the fuck are you, fucking come pick me up right now Gustave-"

"Oh jesus, are you dying?"

"No! Almost, but no! Her father walked in-"

"Didn't she tell you her father was out of town?" Gustave asked, obviously trying to hide a laugh.

"Yes, oh my god, fuck I don't know where I am," Erik said doubling over, trying to catch his breath. "I gotta quit smoking…" he coughed,

"Do you see a street sign dumbass?" Gustave grunted.

"Uh- oh yeah, Belcher," Erik said looking around at the sign.

"Ok. I'll be there in a few. But, I must ask, was a quick eighteenth birthday fuck really worth it?"

"Isn't it always?" Erik smirked, reaching his hand down to touch the purple mark on his pelvis.

"I hate you. I'll be right there, don't wander Erik." Gustave sighed.

"Oh- wait! Can you bring me a shirt, shoes, and a belt?" Erik asked, knowing he was never going to live this down.

"Anything else? A brain? A knife so I can cut off your dick?" Gustave said, as Erik heard his car engine start.

"Ouch," and with that Gustave hung up the phone on him.

Twenty years later, here he was. He didn't change his habits in the slightest over the years, until he was forced to while in prison. Many nights he wished to be eighteen again, surrounding himself with pretty girls, or any girls for that matter that spread their legs for him. Jesus, what he would give to have some of the girls in Mexico back. Those were the ones he wanted back, the ones with no morals or obligations, where they knew their place to be out by sunrise unless he had given them permission to stick around. He wondered if Christine would be with her boyfriend- no. Nope, none of that. That was not his business in the slightest, he had no concern in her life.

He flicked out the butt of his cigarette and threw it out the window, turning onto the houses street. Then he saw the cars lining the street.

"What the fuck…?" He mumbled to himself, getting closer to the house, the number of cars growing. Finally he pulled up in front of house, seeing the littering of cups on the front yard, and teenager standing around on the front lawn. Christine's eighteenth birthday party… Fuck. People were standing in his spot in the driveway, and he railed on his car horn to get them out of the way. He was given a few disgusted looks, and he easily returned them. He could hear the heavy thump of the base of the speaker system in the house.

Erik did not take Christine to be the type of girl who would throw a party in the slightest. He ran his fingers over the uncovered side of his face, assuming the worst of what he was about to walk into. He had seen all of the good, the bad, and the ugly when it came to parties, but granted he was a young man when that happened and he was now a grown man.

He opened his car door, not even bothering to grab his bags from the passenger seat. All he wanted was his bed, and a joint but no. He slammed the door shut of his car and stormed into the house. The whole place was packed with people, rap was blaring from the speakers in the living room and the whole place reeked of weed. He smirked to himself a little bit, not expecting Gustave's oh so innocent little girl to be capable of this. He made his way through the house, seeing beer bottles littered about the house and kids yelling and grabbing at each other. He towered above most, seeing the stares he got from a few that were still still sober and functioning.

"Erik!" He heard someone yell his name, and felt a tug on his sleeve. Meg Giry stood next to him, looking at him with a worried expression.

"Nice party, Christine's birthday?" He shouted over the music.

"Not nice party! She didn't want this! Come here, I need your help, please!" It was the frantic tone in her voice that set him off as she grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the back door. A worry set in when he didn't see Christine in the sea of people. She dragged him into the backyard where he saw people in the pool, a few passed out. She led him to the guest house, and he wondered why she was in where he was staying.

Then as he walked through the door with Meg shutting it behind them, he saw Christine curled up on the couch.

"Chris, I found Erik-"

"Erik, please, get them to leave- please" he heard her shuttering cries, and felt his heart twist. He knew she wouldn't do this. He walked over to the couch where she sat and kneeled in front of her.

"Who threw the party?" He asked softly, looking into her tear-filled eyes.

"I- I did," she lied.

"Chris, tell him the truth girl," Meg pleaded as she sat next to her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it gently. Christine shook her head and Meg sighed heavily.

"We went and go sushi for her birthday, and we came home to all these people. Raoul told everyone to come, he knew Gustave wasn't going to be home and it was his idea. Chris wanted none of this, and Raoul refused to make them all leave, he's drunk and-"

"Meg, no," Christine sobbed, her shoulders shaking, "Dad is gonna kill me-"

"Hush, he won't find out Christine." Erik said looking at her sincerely, trying his best not to go and hunt down this boyfriend of her's who obviously seemed to be taking advantage of the poor girl, "Do you want me to make everyone leave?"

"Can you please?" She stuttered, taking a deep breath. He nodded slowly before taking her hand giving it a light squeeze. He felt horrible for her, all she wanted was a quiet night and instead she got a party with people she does know and an anxiety attack. He stood slowly, looking at Meg to follow him.

"Take me to her boyfriend now," he said lowly, opening the door for Meg to walk out first. She gulped and began to push her way through the crowds of people.

"Giry, wanna meet me in the bedroom for one of your famous blows?" Someone shouted at her, and Eriks lips twitched. That's not funny, that was not funny he kept telling himself trying to hold in a snicker as he followed the tiny blonde through the hoards of people. In the two minutes he had been home it seemed the number of people outside had doubled.

"Go fuck yourself with a baseball bat Peter!" She yelled back, not even looking phased by the insult. Obviously it was a common occurrence for Meg to have vulgar things shouted at her he assumed.

They made their way into the house, and Meg scanned the area, before staring at a young blonde man with a beer in his hand, and a joint tucked behind his ear.

"That's Raoul de Chagny, Christine's boyfriend." Meg scoffed.

"I take it you aren't too fond of him, Meg?" He asked loudly over the blaring music. She shrugged her shoulders, before looking back at Erik, who;s eyes were trained on Raoul as if he were coming up with a plan of attack.

Erik stared at the boy, hating him just from looking at him. His blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and the start of a sad attempt of growing a beard. He looked like your normal high school heart throb, and Erik couldn't stand him in the slightest.

"Erik?" He heard Meg ask, but before he could be dissuaded he started walking towards the boy. He felt the eyes of those still functioning land on him, he only stopped when he stood in front of the boy, and he stood there until they met each others eyes.

"Woah, did a costume party memo go out?" Raoul snickered, taking another sip of his beer.

"Raoul is it?" Erik asked.

"Yeah, and you are?" Raoul chuckled, pulling the joint from his ear, and putting it between his lips.

"Erik, Gustave's friend. I'm living here now," and with that, the joint fell out of his mouth, and into Eriks grasp before it touched the ground.

"Oh, well Gustave said it was chill if we had a party, dude," he lied with a shit eating grin.

"Oh really? Shall I call him and ask? Because I don't recall him informing me of a party where drugs and underage drinking would be taking place-"

"No!- just dude, I mean, its my baby's birthday can't you just let it slide?" He chuckled.

"No. At this moment Christine is crying in my bedroom, overwhelmed by the amount of people she does not know in her home, I will now ask you to get everyone to leave at this very moment," Erik growled, growing tired of this boys excuses and lies. Raoul's brow raised when Erik had mentioned his bedroom.

"Nah man, everyone is having a great time, hey why don't you go back to your room, send Christine down here to enjoy the party and tell her to calm the fuck down. She always does this shit-"

Meg interrupted, "Raoul, please just leave. Christine really doesn't want this-"

"Oh shut up Giry, who the fuck asked your opinion?" Raoul snapped.

"Turn the music off and get out. Now." Erik said firmly, pointing his finger to the front door.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Raoul said harshly.

"I could ask you the exact same Mr. De Chagny. Leave now."

"No."

"Are you sure you are making a wise decision young man?" Erik questioned in s condescending tone.

"You can't fucking do anything to me, fuck off!" And with that, Erik turned on his heel towards the speaker system where Raoul's phone was plugged in. Erik swiftly unplugged it and heard the groans and sighs from the uninvited guests.

"What the-" before Raoul could finish the question, he was ducking as his phone was whipped at the wall right over his head and shattered as it made contact.

"Have I made my point Mr. De Chagny?" Erik shouted over the gasps from the crowd, now knowing all eyes in the room were on him.

"That was my fucking phone you piece of shit!" Raoul yelled, setting his bottle down.

"Send me a fucking bill." Erik seething through his clenched jaw. He looked around at the dumbfounded people around him as if nobody had ever dared to speak to the boy in that manner before, "As for the rest of you," he shouted scanning the room of faces in awe and confusion, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, get out now." He said loudly, but nobody moved a muscle. He smirked to himself, "hard way it is then," he said shoving his way out of the kitchen, into the backyard towards the pool. All eyes followed him, especially when he reached into the back of his pants under his jacket into the waistband of his pants to pull out a handgun. There were a few murmurs as he pointed it at the sky.

_**Bang! Bang! Bang!** _

"Everyone one out now!" And with that a few screams echoed through the air, and suddenly a flurry of motion, people spirited out of the house, running around and him and from him. The only person he saw look back at him was De Chagny as he shook his head before walking out of the house with the swarms of people, in moments the house was empty. A disaster, but empty nonetheless.

"... You carry a gun?" A voice from behind him asked, and be turned to see Meg standing there with a smirk on her face.

"Yes." He answered, knowing he had just fucked himself if she told Gustave. "Listen, if you don't tell Gustave I will give you two hundred dollars," he bribed, and with that her face lit up.

"Deal, hand it over." She said sticking her hand out. Erik rolled his eyes as he set the gun down on the table, and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through the bills. He pulled out two hundreds, handing them to her.

"Can I hold the gun?"

"Absolutely not." He said quickly taking it out of her reach as the slider door of the guest house opened and a disheveled Christine walked out,

"Is everyone gone?" She asked meekly.

"Yes, you can come out now," he chuckled as she exited the house with a blanket wrapped around her. A blanket off of his bed. Shit. Now it would smell like her.

"How- how did you-"

"It's not important, they're gone and now we have a mess to clean up here before your father gets home in a few days-"

"We? You'll help?" Christine asked sounding mildly surprised by the gesture. He had said we, and fucked himself and his plans to get high and go to sleep over.

"I suppose I will then," he grumbled looking around the yard. He saw Meg yawn out of the corner of his eye,

"Meg, go home. Get some sleep, you're mother doesn't need to know about this…" Erik said gently, looking at the girls.

"I'm fin-" another yawn interrupted her sentence, "actually, yeah, I'm gonna head out. It's almost eleven, and I have dance at eight tomorrow morning," she sighed. She tuned to Christine and hugged her tightly, "Love you Chris, happy birthday, sorry it sucked…" she muttered. Christine smiled softly.

"Its okay, its just a birthday," she said.

Once again, Erik felt very out of place in a private moment between the girls. He also realized the idiotic move he had made by sending Meg home for now it would just be him and Christine. Alone.

"Night, Erik," Meg mumbled.

"Night, Meg," he muttered back to her, as he looked around the yard, trying to do anything but look at Christine.

* * *

The two were soon left alone, Erik had said he would start cleaning out the backyard of all the beer bottles and she should start in the front. He seemed all too eager to put distance between them and she couldn't understand why. He had returned to being civil to her, at least for now.

Christine groaned as she looked at a puddle of puke on the lawn as she bent down to grab another bottle and a few cups, stuffing them into a garbage bag that trailed behind her. She was tired, embarrassed and sad. All she had wanted for her birthday was a quiet dinner with her father, Meg, Meg's mother, Mama, and Raoul…. possibly Erik is he had agreed. He was apparently her fathers best friend, he deserved to be included. He certainly could act like a jerk, but she didn't think he was all bad.

She wondered about him greatly, why her father never spoke about him before. His had they met? Where had he been for the eighteen years of her life? How did he meet her mother? Yet again there were so many questions without answers.

"Christine?" He heard him call from inside the house. She looked up at the doorway he stood, leaning against the door frame of the front door, "Do you need any help out here, or would you like me to get started inside?" He asked, trying up the top of the trash bag in his hand.

"Um, I think I'm okay out here. I'll be inside in a few to help you," she yelled to the door. He nodded and turned on his heel to go inside. She noticed the look of relief on his face when she said she didn't need any help outside. Did he hate her? He seemed to go through phases. One moment he was almost sweet to her, the next he was cold and rude. For the life of her she couldn't figure this man out.

She finished up in the yard, as she reached the door she heard music softly coming out of the speakers. She didn't recognize the song, it sounded old from the recording quality of it. She saw Erik picking up cups off the tables and noticed his lips moving to the words.

"Who is this?" She asked. She saw him glance over at her, looking her over before he went back to his task.

"David Bowie?" He asked as if she should know, "Do you really not know this song? Your father loves him," he said sounding surprised.

"Well, I've heard the name but I don't really know his music too well," she said bending over and beginning to pick up a few scattered cups, "Wait… is he same guy as the um, Ziggy whoever?"

She heard him chuckle deeply, "Yes, same person. Ziggy Stardust, his alter ego if you will. He was a strange and very talented man." He sighed, walking back over the speakers. He changed the song, this time with a light guitar riff beginning it. This song sounded familiar, "Do you know this song?" He asked, his brows raising as he looked at her.

"Oh, um- is it…" the familiar voice of Mick Jagger rang through the speakers, "Oh! The Rolling Stones!" She said, feeling proud of herself.

"Good," he huffed out in a laugh. "Now how about this?" A small piano intro began, until a guitar riff started.

_Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity_

"Um, Eminem? I don't really like him all that much, he's really vulgar-"

"Hold, on repeat that. You don't like Eminem?" He asked holding up a finger, looking at her with a puzzled expression.

"No…" she said, standing up and looking at him, "Do you?"

"I am sure if you asked your father he could tell the the story of how I spent most of my summer listing to the Slim Shady LP when I was around nineteen I believe."

"You didn't strike me as someone who would enjoy rap, in all honesty, " she giggled, imagining him rapping Eminem when he was younger.

"I enjoy all music, as long as it isn't some of the shit they put out nowadays," he scoffed, walking towards the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a whiskey.

"Can I have some?" she blurted out. She heard him laugh a bit.

"No. It's whiskey, I don't think you would enjoy it and if your father knew I let you drink, let alone gave it to you, he may kill me. So no," he said taking a sip and closing the cabinet.

She sighed, "Fine."

The pair spent about another hour making small talk about music and each others dislikes and likes in singers. He was appalled by her lack of knowledge with rap, and classic rock and wondered what kind of a father Gustave was for not teaching her life essentials when it came to music. The house was clean, and good as new. Christine sat at the island counter in the center of the kitchen, while Erik unplugged his phone from the speakers.

"You all set?" he asked, turning back to her.

"Oh, yeah," she said looking up from her phone to stare into his eyes. They were so intense, she was hardly able to look away at times.

"Alright well, goodnight-"

"Erik?" She asked while standing up, getting a sudden surge of confidence. He looked back at her.

"What?" he asked, watching her closely as she stood and made her way towards him. He wanted to back away from her and put distance again, seeing the light flush on her face, wondering what on earth she was up to. She stood a foot away from him, the closest she had ever been to him on purpose.

"I- I wanted to say thank you- for helping me and well…" Suddenly she wrapped her arms around his waist loosely. His whole body tensed at the feel of her head leaning onto his chest, her ear right over his chest. No doubt she could hear the racing of his heart.

"Yo- you're welcome," he said softly. Dear god was he stuttering? He was stuttering over a hug from an eighteen year old girl. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to control the race of his pulse.

She didn't let go for a moment. Instead she looked up at him with his drink in one hand and the other bracing the counter behind him. His knuckles were white, tight against the counter in an effort to keep from touching her. She made a split second decision, puckering her lips and going up on her tiptoes.

He could feel her breath on his cheek. He went to dodge her actions, but instead he felt the softness of her lips against the corner of his.

Fuck.

She only pulled back ever so slowly, a scarlet blush on on face and the feeling of her ears turning bright red.

"Thank you, Erik," she mumbled with a small smile. She heard him set down his glass on the marble counter, and felt both of them wrap around her.

"Happy eighteenth birthday, Christine Daae." he mumbled as he pulled her close to him. "I'm sorry it wasn't all you planned for it to be-"

"It wasn't that bad-"

"Did you even have a cake? Cupcake? Anything?" he joked, still holding her in his arms as he untensed ever so slightly.

"No, I wish dad was home. He always brought me a cupcake from this really nice bakery downtown. Chocolate with a espresso frosting, and a frozen coffee in the morning," she mumbled into his chest. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and stale cigarettes. She had never liked the smell of cigarettes, but the mixture of the spice of his cologne and them, well, she didn't mind that.

He only hummed deep in his chest, and she felt his finger twirl around one of her curls as he sighed deeply. Eventually she felt him grasp her wrists, untwining them from his waist.

"It's late. You must be tired," he mumbled softly, still holding her wrists as he slid sideways away from her. As if in cue she released a great yawn. "I'll take that as a yes," he chuckled, releasing her completely. "Goodnight Christine," he said opening the slider door and almost tripping on his way out, "Night," He said again awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair.

"Night, Erik" she mumbled long after he had left…. she knew exactly what she had just done. She hadn't meant do kiss the corner of his mouth, she hadn't… had she? Oh god, did she mean to? She stood there in the kitchen, the only noise coming from her heavy breaths. He was her fathers friend, she had a boyfriend, this was not allowed. This was not allowed in the slightest. He was twenty years her senior. No, she would not let herself feel anything for him. She would not think about the whiskey and mint she tasted on his lips, the way he smelled, she feeling of his firm chest against her. No. She wouldn't.


	6. She Burns

She kissed him.

He couldn't be sure whether Christine had aimed for his lips and he had turned his head to save himself that particular torture or if she had meant to find his cheek and instead landed half on the corner of his mouth. Either way she kissed him and, try as he might, he couldn't get the feeling of her soft, warm lips and the pleasant minty scent of her breath out of his mind.

Erik felt the need to settle his electrified nerves. A joint called to him as he walked back to the guest house and tried to clear his mind, but what Christine said to him in the kitchen when he had his arms around her wouldn't leave his mind: ' _He always brought me a cupcake from this really nice bakery downtown. Chocolate with espresso frosting, and a frozen coffee in the morning'._

Erik returned to his room and found himself setting an alarm for six in the morning. He had every intention of being the first person in line at the goddamned bakery to get Christine the stupid, delectable-sounding, birthday cupcake. Just because Gustave wasn't around didn't mean the tradition had to stop.

Erik spent the remainder of his night with a joint and music, playing it quietly on his phone as he sat on the balcony of the little guest house. Every so often he found himself glancing over toward her window and the gentle glow of light that came from it. For a while he wondered if she was still awake; eventually he realized she must sleep with some light. She wouldn't still be awake at four in the morning, that much he was sure of.

The thought of that boy made him seethe. The smell of whiskey on his breath, his blatant disregard for any and everything. Erik wasn't sure whether it was because of his unearned pride or if it was simply because he saw more of himself in the boy's eyes than he would care to admit.

He dozed off in a chair at some point in the very early morning until the obnoxious ringing of the alarm on his phone started. He groaned, feeling a pain in his back from the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in. He tried to ignore the pain and fall back asleep after he turned off the alarm, but then he remembered the cupcake and the coffee that he felt the need to buy for Christine. The poor girl deserved a birthday gift.

He opened his eyes and the sun was just beginning to come up, it was beautiful yet all too early for his liking. The sunrise was not as good as some of the ones in Mexico, when he wasn't waking up at three in the afternoon and actually saw them, or walking home from some girl's apartment or hotel room. Ah, memories. Now here he was a thirty-eight year old man going to buy an eighteen-year old girl a cupcake for her birthday.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cigarette and lighter and took a deep drag. He found the address of the bakery last night on his phone, and remembered this was the same bakery where Gustave had a cake made for him when he came home from the hospital, and like the ass Erik knew himself to be, he turned up his nose at it. He often felt guilty about the way he had treated Gustave, especially in the weeks leading up to his abrupt departure.

Erik stood, stretched his back and slipped the mask off quickly, and rubbed at his eyes as he smoothed his hair back before placing the mask back in place securely. He sighed heavily and walked back inside to the guest house and stole a longing glance at his bed. Instead he snatched his car keys off of the counter and dragged himself through the yard to the side gate, got into his Audi and drove off to the stupid bakery.

Like he intended, he was the first one in there. He opened the door, looking around at the interior of the room. It was filled with three display cases of baked goods, and one grade one in the front full of wedding cakes. He could remember Victoria coming home one day, pregnant as ever with a box of cupcakes in her arms, and frosting on her face.

"Keep your mouth shut, or the pregnant lady may hit you, Erik," she had warned when she saw the look on his face, knowing some sort of rude remark was just dying to come out. He simply smirked and carried on with his business.

"Can I help you sir?"

He looked at the young lady standing at the counter with a bright smile on her face. How on earth was she so goddamn happy at this time in the morning?

"Yes, I need a-" he realized how ridiculous he must look, a man in a mask who did not look like he belonged in a bakery with _pink_ walls must look, "a chocolate cupcake with espresso frosting." He grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Of course! We have three sizes of cupcakes, minis, regular, and large," she said going under the counter and pulling up examples. She didn't specify which one Gustave would buy. Shit.

"Uh, the large one," he said awkwardly. Christine was a tiny girl, he doubted she could finish it, but whatever.

"Alright, I'll be right back with that for you sir. Anything else?" She said. Erik looked at the rest of the case, and felt his stomach rumble. Fuck it.

"Yeah, give me twenty of those french macarons," he mumbled, hating himself a tad more than usual as the looked at the round multicolored pastries on display. He knew he wasn't twenty anymore but he didn't give a single shit.

"Alrighty!" And the girl disappeared into the kitchen door.

Ten minutes later his car must've smelled like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory from the pastries. He drove to the nearest Starbucks, cause eighteen-year olds must go there, right?

He went to the drive through, ordered her a large, no, a venti because obviously that was necessary then just calling a coffee a large, frozen mocha coffee for Christine, an a black coffee for himself. Finally, he headed back to the house

Why was he doing this for her? He found himself wondering. He should be putting distance in between them, not encouraging her to like him. He stalked into the house, and set the bag and coffees on the counter. He had no idea how long until she would wake up, so he wrote out a note:

_Happy late Birthday, I guess._

_Enjoy the cupcake, and a coffee is in the fridge._

_Sorry if it's a little melted,_

_Erik xx_

No, no 'xx' that was not needed. He erased his chicken scratch and hoped she could read his horrible handwriting. Putting the rather large cupcake on a plate, he walked upstairs towards her bedroom. The debate of where to put the note and cupcake began. If he put it outside her door she may step on it and that would certainly be a waste of a perfectly good cupcake. He made the impulsive choice of her bedroom.

It was horribly intrusive. She was sound asleep as he opened the door of her bedroom, and crept inside. She was curled up in a ball, a thick layer of blankets over her. She looked so peaceful and beautiful- no. No she did not. He did not look at the way her lips parted slightly, those pink lips that touched his own last night. Her bedroom did not smell of citrus and flowers. He was not able to clearly see her sleeping in a bra only covering her. No. He did not see any of that. He walked towards her bedside table and lightly placed down the cupcake and note, positioning it so it would be the first thing she saw when her eyes opened.

He stole one more glance at her, a noticed a few stray curls that fell in front of her eyes. Reaching out, he dared to brush them out of her face ever so gently. She stirred slightly and her brows furrowed as his breath caught.

"Shh," he cooed to her and he prayed for her not to wake up. Soon. She returned to her deep slumber. He stood there for a few more moments, just looking at her. Pale, unblemished skin, long lashes, full lips, no wonder that boyfriend of hers liked to keep her on his arm. A twinge of jealousy sparked, knowing he didn't deserve someone as sweet and naive as Christine. If he didn't deserve her, Raoul sure as hell didn't deserved her either. She belonged with someone good and kind, someone who would take care of her. Erik sighed, turned on his heel, and left her room before she had the chance to wake and find him ogling at her.

* * *

Erik didn't dare to tread back into the main house until long after noon. He wasn't sure what time it actually was; too early to be seeking out the liquor cabinet, he was sure, but that was exactly where he was heading. Well, where he had been heading until his eye caught _her_ , sitting at the dining room table with her back turned to him.

He made a sound, or maybe he didn't. It was hard to tell whether she heard him or whether it was just an instinctual feeling that alerted her to his presence. Either way she turned her head, her eyes falling silently on him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking in the redness of her eyes. The soft way that he asked it was enough to tell him just how damned he was.

She shook her head, looking back down at the book and notebook on the table in front of her. "It's just homework," she said softly, tapping the eraser of her pencil on the page. "Math. I've done this problem ten times and I'm still not getting the right answer. I have a test on Monday and I'm gonna bomb it."

He didn't intentionally brush against her shoulder when he leaned over the back of her chair; at least, he wouldn't admit it to himself if it was. He reached around her, pointing at her work on the page and looking up at the book. "The three is negative, Christine," he pointed out. He looked at the coffee he had bought hours ago on the table, almost empty.

"No," she argued. "It's negative in number six not number five… oh," she said, looking back at the book. "I guess it is."

He stood back up, resting his hands on the back of her chair. "Try it again," he said. He watched her silently and then he sighed. "When you multiply a negative by a positive you get…"

"A negative," she answered, erasing the bit of work and redoing it.

He hummed and when she failed to carry a negative again he leaned over her. "Stop," he said, taking the pencil from her hand. She shivered as his breath traced over her throat and he tried his best to ignore it. He turned the pencil over, erasing her work until all that was left was the original problem. "Pay attention," he instructed, furrowing his brow as he worked through the problem. High school had been so long ago but he had always excelled in mathematics - a good thing for a businessman, his father had said.

He solved the problem and then he looked over the page at the old work she had given up on and crossed out with angry black marks.

"You know perfectly well _how_ to do it," he said, pointing at the crossed out work with the tip of the pencil. "If there were no negatives this would've been right. You just need to slow down, Christine."

"Math is stupid," she grumbled. When her head fell back, she found his chest. She didn't quite jerk away the way he expected her to.

"Math is important," he argued, wondering if she could feel the way his heart raced. "You'll use it more than you think you will."

"Negatives though?" The way her lips parted when she tilted her head back to look at him was dizzying, intoxicating. He was half tempted to lean down and press his lips to hers - he was pretty sure that was what she had intended the night before and it would be so easy…

He pulled away from the chair, trying to put some distance between them. "Hopefully not many negatives," he answered. "Debt is rampant in this day and age. I'm sure you will need them at least once in your life. Although, with the de Changy boy and his family's funds-"

"Please can we not talk about him?" Christine whispered, crossing her arms over her chest with a sudden seriousness.

Erik crossed his own arms in answer. "Trouble in paradise?"

"No, I just-" Christine huffed, picking up her pencil and beginning to doodle in the margins of her notebook. "I just don't want to talk about him right now."

Erik sat in the chair at the head of the table, resting his chin in his palm as he looked at her. "I got to spend the majority of my Friday night cleaning up a high schoolers party," he pointed out flatly. "I think I've earned the right to talk about him."

"Erik - you aren't going to tell my dad are you?" she asked, looking up at him with worried eyes and her lower lip caught between her teeth.

He sighed. "I told you last night that I wouldn't - if I was planning on that I wouldn't have wasted my time cleaning up. As much as I enjoy terrorizing your father, I don't see much reason to let you be on the receiving end."

"Listen - I'm sorry. I'm sorry for ruining your Friday night and making you clean up my messes," she sighed, looked down at her notebook and ran her thumb along the edge of the papers, carding them through. "I really didn't mean for any of that to happen."

Erik looked at her carefully, running his finger tip over the grain of the tabled, and he wondered if she meant the small kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Your birthday was ruined," he said eventually. "Friday nights come every week. Eighteen is a special one and it shouldn't have been like that."

"It wasn't that bad," she said, shrugging one shoulder and peeking up at him shyly.

"You cried. On your birthday," he argued. "You spent all night cleaning up a party you didn't even throw."

"You made it better," she admitted quietly, looking down at her notebook as she blushed. "Thank you for the cupcake. And for the coffee. You didn't have to do that."

He shrugged it off, "... don't worry about it. It was nothing, I was out anyways-"

"That early? I heard you come in-" she stopped herself, not wanting to make this more awkward than it was, addressing that he had come into her bedroom early this morning while she was half asleep. She had felt his calloused fingers brush the hair out of her face, and lull her back to sleep. "Nonetheless, thank you, Erik. It was sweet of you," she smiled.

He scoffed at the word 'sweet.' "You're welcome. Now, I think I have distracted you enough- Wait, it's a Saturday. Are you doing homework on a Saturday?" He asked, looking surprised.

"...yeah? It's important to get it done, so I don't procrastinate. Did you not have homework on the weekends when you were in school?" She said tapping her pencil on the math pages.

"Oh, I did. I was in all AP and Honors classes, but that doesn't mean I did my homework. I hardly showed up to class, but somehow I passed every semester being in the top five percent of my class," he bragged.

"How were your parents not mad at you for skipping? Dad would be so mad at me if I ditched, I've only done it once and he got upset-"

"Your father used to be the one to pick me up from school when I got tired of teachers nagging me. My father didn't appreciate my habit of not showing up, but he was never angry with me over it because of my grades. I didn't have to work very hard to get them." He sat back in the chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and cracked his neck.

She winced at the sound, "So you said you were sixteen when you met my dad?"

He nodded.

"How did the two of you meet?" she asked. He father had told her not to pry, but she couldn't help it. She was curious about their relationship. _I'm not prying, I'm just getting to know him_ she convinced herself

"He was giving a lecture to my class on music composition, I was very interested. We spoke after the class, and he expressed interest in taking me under his wing." His gaze shifted out the window as he struggled to remember a time long ago when things were so much simpler. "After school, we met at his apartment and he looked over some of my work. He offered me an internship under him. After that, he treated me like a younger brother. I practically lived with him for four years of my life." A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and then he blinked a few times to stop the surge of emotion. Clearing his throat, he shifted his gaze back to Christine.

"You two were like brothers?" she said as she leaned forward to rest her head on her hands.

"Yeah, he was like a father figure and brother all rolled into one. He's saved my ass more times than I could count-" he cut himself off, suddenly feeling horrible for this poor girl. Gustave wasn't his father or brother, yet he was always there. Where was he now for his own daughter?

"What?" Christine asked.

"Nothing, I- I should stop distracting you, with all your ridiculos weekend homework." he said as he abruptly stood and pushed his chair toward the table.

"Oh, um- yeah okay," she said awkwardly.

"You understand what you did with that problem?" he asked as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Uh… yeah. I get it now, thanks," Christine said. She couldn't help but feel flustered by the abrupt change of subject back to her homework, especially since she wanted to know more about his past, but clearly Erik wasn't interested in sharing anything further.

"If you have anymore questions-about math or whatever- I'll be around," he said before he walked out of the dining room without another word..

He half hoped and half dreaded the possibility of Christine coming to the guest house with more questions. The only thing Erik knew for certain was he sure as hell didn't want to talk about math.


	7. Guys My Age

Erik wasn't sure what led him back into the main house that evening.

He told himself it was for whiskey, that he just needed a drink, but that was a piss poor lie. His actions had far more to do with the navy BMW parked in the driveway than it did with some smooth, vintage liquor. Erik had almost forgotten what excellent taste Gustave had in booze.

He made his way inside through the kitchen and did his best to divert his gaze from the young couple on the leather couch with a movie playing in the background. He stole a look from the corner of his eye as he made a beeline for the rustic wooden liquor cabinet thankfully on the opposite side of the spacious living room.

"Come _on_ , Christine,"Raoul groaned in disgust. "Why else would you ask me over when you're here all alone?"

Erik rolled his eyes as he knelt in front of the cabinet and pretended to peruse the impressive selection of whiskeys, bourbons, and scotch.

"Knock it off, Raoul. Seriously."

The tremble in her voice set Erik on edge; the reluctance mixed with just a touch of fear. He ran his hand over the caps of the bottles in the cabinet and stared blankly at the labels as he continued to eavesdrop.

There was silence for a long moment, but Erik remained tense. He pulled one bottle out and stared at it in his hands.

" _Stop_ ," she whispered, the word breathless and shaking.

"Christine Daae, always such a tease." The affectionate way that the boy murmured the words clashed terribly with the fear in her voice, and Erik finally turned toward the couch.

Erik felt a flash of hot anger run through him at what he saw. Despite her pleas, Christine was pinned under her boyfriend, biting her lip as she stared at the wall to avoid his ravenous gaze. Raoul's hand was halfway up her shirt, undeterred by her obvious disinterest in what was happening.

She turned her head to the other side and glanced toward Erik, seeming startled to find him there. Her eyes met his and he swore there was something like relief in her wide blue gaze.

"Please stop," she whispered to Raoul while she continued to stare meaningfully at Erik, her eyes pleading with him to rescue her.

The damnable boy ignored her words and pressed his lips against her throat, his hand traveling further up her shirt, and her skirt riding up against the boys khakis as he grinded against her exposing a slivers of her pale skin to Erik's eyes. Erik swallowed thickly, torn somewhere between staring at that exposed bit of skin and the temptation to wrap his bare hands around the boy's throat.

"I love you," Raoul whispered against her skin. "You know that, Lotte."

She whimpered, pressing her eyes closed tightly.

"Three times now I have heard her ask you to stop," Erik heard himself say. His fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle of whiskey as he stood to his full, imposing height. "I suggest that you listen - if I have to ask you, it won't be so kind."

At the sound of his dark, commanding voice, Raoul's gaze found Erik's. He was now turned from the liquor cabinet, glaring at the scene on the couch, the boy hovering over Christine's small body. Her hands were nervously tucked at her sides, trying to hold the edges of her shirt down, her eyes pleading with him to save her.

"Get off of her. Now," Erik snarled, his unoccupied hand forming a fist. It made his blood boil seeing Christine there, scared witless by a boy who claimed to love her. He didn't. The boy liked to control her, to make her bow to his every whim because he knew that she could rarely bring herself to say no to him. This trust fund born boy, who most likely had never the word 'no' in his life.

"Must you always barge in and ruin our fun?" Raoul asked with an arrogant laugh, climbing off of Christine, who audibly exhaled in relief.

"Fun? Oh yes, Christine looks like she is crying tears of joy," Erik growled, attempting to keep his temper in check when all he really wanted to do was throttle the boy.

"Why don't you do us all a favor and go back to your dog house," the boy said as he stood and brushed off his (whatever he's wearing). He narrowed his eyes smugly and crossed his arms over his chest, a silent challenge.

"Don't mock me with your insolence, boy. Leave. Now." Erik said darkly, not bending for a moment. If he has a violent past, he should really think of twelve different ways he could end Raoul's life and make it so no one ever finds the body.

"And what will you do if I don't?" Raoul asked with a rakish grin. That little bastard truly thought he was untouchable. If only he knew a small fraction of what Erik had done in the past-or what he was still capable of doing now.

"Me? Oh, nothing," Erik said with a nonchalant shrug. He noticed Christine's eyes widen at his statement. "However, I believe Gustave would have something to say about how you've treated his daughter. Perhaps I shall give him a call and explain the situation-" Erik reached into his pocket for his phone. Before he could enter his passcode, he saw the panicked expression on both teens' faces and smiled inwardly. At last Raoul lost his shit-eating grin.

"Wait!"

Erik was shocked to see Christine leap up from the couch and approach Raoul.

"Please, Raoul. Don't make this situation worse. Just go." Christine pleaded with him.

Raoul gawked at her in disbelief, astonished that she would dare listen to this masked freak in her living room. He snapped his eyes back to Erik who kept his gaze trained on Christine.

"Fine. I'm going," he said through his teeth as he stormed away from Christine, ripping her hand off of his arm in the process. He glared at Erik one last time before he turned back to her. His fingers grasped her jaw far too tightly as he forced her head up and kissed her hard. "I'll see you in the morning, _my dear._ " he said gruffly.

Christine faked a smile at Raoul as he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked out the front door, slamming it for emphasis. A moment later a car engine revved and she heard the BMW peel out of the driveway and down the street. She stared at the door until the car could no longer be heard, then groaned and plopped herself on the couch. With a sigh, she rubbed her tear-filled eyes and didn't bother giving Erik a second look.

"You're welcome," Erik said dryly, rolling his eyes as he turned away.

"Seriously, Erik?" Christine said as she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him from the couch. He had just gotten her in a world of trouble with Raoul next time he saw her. "You know that you don't own this house, right?"

His fist furled and unfurled as he stood with his back to her. "True enough," he offered eventually, turning to look at her carefully. "Would you like me to invite him back? It seems a little like rape was the next thing on the menu for the night but who am I to judge - maybe that's just the sort of thing you're into. Everyone has a kink."

Her cheeks went pink at that, her arms sliding to her side **s**. "Erik-"

"No, no," he said, his tone condescending as he raised his hand in front of him, palms out. "Feel free - I'll be out of your hair in a moment. I only came in for this in the first place," he said, pointing at the bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Dad's gonna notice you've been raiding his liquor cabinet."

Erik shrugged at that, looking at the whiskey. "It doesn't really matter, does it? I'll pay him back, or maybe he'll kick me out and then we'll have a good laugh about it all when I come back in another eighteen years." He paused, looking closely at her noticing the stains of her mascara running. "You can say no, Christine. You aren't stupid and you aren't weak. Don't let him make you a fool."

"He loves me, you know," she said softly, sitting up on the edge of the couch cushion. "He just… he has a funny way of showing it, thats all." Her tone was unsure, as if she were trying to convince herself as well.

Erik just shook his head, twisted the cap off of the bottle and lifted it as though in a toast. "May his love burn brightly and may you make it out alive," he said, taking a swig directly from the bottle.

"Why do you always have to be such a jerk?" Now Christine was standing. He took another swallow and hardly realized she'd stalked across the room to confront him.

Once she stood toe to toe with him, she yanked the bottle out of his hand. When she held out her other hand, he reluctantly dropped the cap into her palm and watched as she screwed the lid tightly back on and returned the bottle to the liquor a word she rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Why do you say that like it still surprises you?"

She stared at him from the kitchen, her hand clutching her elbow. "Maybe I'm hoping it's all an act," she said softly. "Maybe I keep getting glimpses of this man who - I don't know, actually gives half a shit and I think he must really be somewhere in you."

One step, two steps, three until he stood so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Maybe he is," he admitted quietly, ducking down just the slightest bit so that he could look into her eyes. Take, take, take. All the boy did was take from her. He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tracks of her tears, tinted grey with her running mascara. Her full pink lips parted and she let out a nervous breath.

"Can I kiss you?" he murmured, resting his hand on the wall beside her head.

The dark timbre of his made her shiver. She could smell whiskey, mint and cigarettes on his hot breath.

Her lips parted more, almost like she was going to answer, and then she slowly shook her head. "I have a boyfriend," she whispered.

"And he doesn't love you," Erik pointed out gently. His fingers trailed from her jaw down to her shoulder and he reveled in the shiver that his caress caused her.

The goosebumps on her skin were a giveaway. Christine didn't even know how to respond, but she knew that deep down she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to touch her. If it was Erik on that couch with her, his hand up her shirt, she wouldn't have stopped him. Erik with his deep voice, his intense green eyes, calloused hands, and silky black hair that she found herself longing to run her fingers through; she wouldn't have stopped him, even though there was no doubt in her mind he would have stopped if she had said the word.

She could feel his breath on her neck, "Can I kiss you here?"

She took a trembling breath, thinking about how soft the feel of his lips were on hers the night before, and how gentle he could be at times. Then, only barely, she nodded.

He leaned forward, brushing her hair over her shoulder. There was no turning back now. He kissed her gently, kindly, just beneath the edge of her jaw. " _I_ could make you feel good," he murmured against her warm skin, trailing his lips down to her shoulder and back up again, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Do you want me to make you feel good?" he whispered against the shell of her ear.

He heard the thick way that she swallowed; her fast, shallow breathing. She nodded slowly.

"Of course you do," he kept his voice soft and soothing, as warm as he could manage to. He pressed another kiss to the edge of her jaw, trailing his hands down her arms until he could close them around her slim fingers. "Come with me, Christine," he said softly, lifting her hands and brushing his lips over her knuckles, looking directly into her eyes.

She didn't reply, but he took one step back and she took one forward, following him with half-lidded eyes and a dazed look on her face.

In that moment even he was overwhelmed; she was so beautiful, her hands were so soft in his. "Will you trust me?" he asked as he continued to lead her slowly toward the patio door, looking at her seriously, searching her eyes for some sense of doubt.

"I do," she admitted, the words carried on a trembling, nervous breath.

He began to hum gently. Erik was no fool - he knew the power that his voice carried. He knew the way that it affected people and, as if on cue, her fingers relaxed in his, the tension slipped from her shoulders.

He continued to hum, even as he had to release one of her captive hands to lean around her and push the patio door closed behind her. She leaned into him, her newly freed hand catching in the black fabric of his v-neck.

He let her hold him that way for a long moment, her warm breath on his neck driving him nearly to insanity. When he could bear it no longer he caught her wrist, pressing his lips to the center of her palm. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said encouragingly to her palm. "I'll take care of you."

She shivered at the promise in his words, and when he began to lead her across the patio he was met with no resistance. When he led her inside of the guest house it was with one hand pressed to the small of her back. He trailed behind, pulling the door closed.

She stood frozen in the entrance and he slid around from behind her, flicking on the dim lights in the half kitchen. "You can come in," he said, smiling at her in the low light.

"What are we doing?" she asked nervously as she looked around the familiar guest house. It was the same as she remembered - well, almost the same, aside from the man that stood in the kitchen, pinning her with his unwavering gaze. The whole room smelled like cologne and stale cigarette smoke. It smelled like… Erik.

She was entranced. The way that he strode so confidently, so gracefully out of the kitchen, his intriguing mask and her curiosity sparked again, what could he be hiding? that thought added as she watched his long fingers caressing the edge of the countertop. Was it possible to be jealous of a counter? Christine swallowed thickly.

He gave her no answer. Instead he made his way slowly across the room. When he was in front of her he lifted his hand, brushing her hair aside. "Here?" he asked warmly, his thumb trailing over her lower lip.

"No," she said weakly. He only smirked at her, his thumb sliding down and tracing along her throat until it rested in that space just over her breast bone.

"But I can kiss you here," he whispered. At her nod he sighed, leaning forward and brushing his lips against her pulse. He hummed against her warm skin, tugging the edge of the bottom of her shirt between his thumb and forefinger meaningfully. "And I can touch you," he said softly.

He felt her pulse begin to hammer under his lips, heard the breathy, shaking sigh that escaped her. "Please," she breathed.

With one hand he caught her shirt, yanking it up over her head and tossing it aside. His fingers trailed over her milky, smooth skin until they rested between her breasts. One finger hooked in the band of her bra, tugging it gently. "And here?" he murmured.

She swallowed, nodding to answer his question. It was enough. He kissed a trail from her throat downward, pressing his lips into the space between her full breasts. He glanced up at her before he began to slide down even more, resting on one knee and kissing his way to her bellybutton. She drew in a sharp breath, her hands finding his shoulders to steady herself. "Erik, what are we doing?" she whispered her question again.

He wrapped his hands firmly around her waist, pressing his forehead against her skin. "I'm going to make you feel good," he said, kissing her skin again before he leaned back, looking up at her. "If you'll let me. If you trust me."

She stared back at him, silent as his fingers trailed over the band of her skirt, roaming around her back until he slid his hand down, cupping her ass firmly. "I've never -"

"I know," he said softly. "You can tell me no - just say the word." His fingers trailed up her bare side and he stood slowly, towering over her. "Say no, Christine."

Her lips parted as she stared up at him. His hand rested against the side of her throat, his thumb stroking against the soft skin there.

"You can't say no, can you?" he murmured. "You can't say no because you know that you want this too." She was frozen under his touch. "Nod if I'm right, Christine."

Slowly, meekly, she nodded. Her cheeks turned a fantastic shade of pink and he could only smirk, pressing his fingers to her flushed skin.

"Then come with me." His hand was loose around her wrist as he led her past the kitchen and to the right, into his small, undecorated bedroom. He turned to her, cupping her cheeks between his palms as he tilted her head up. "Now?" he murmured, his thumb tugging at her lip. She shook her head again and he sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead instead.

She sighed, leaning closer against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he pressed his lips into her curls, his fingers tracing the curve of her nearly bare back until he found the clasp of her bra. He worked nimbly with one hand, popping the clasp open before he turned her carefully in his arms, sliding the straps forward and watching her bra fall to the floor.

"You are very beautiful, you know," he murmured against her ear, pressing his cool mask against her hair as his hand trailed up until he could cup her breast fully in his palm. His thumb flicked over her rosy nipple and she whimpered, melting against him. He tweaked it gently between his thumb and forefinger, trailing his lips across her bare shoulder.

"Erik," she whispered, her head falling to the side as she bared her neck to him.

It was all the encouragement he needed. One arm wrapped tightly around her waist and he pulled her with him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Her legs fell open on each side of his knees and he groaned against her skin, one hand traveling up the edge of her skirt, his fingers trailing over the inside of her thigh. "You deserve better than that boy," he murmured against her slick throat, his thumb brushing at the edge of her cotton fabric of her underwear. She shifted in his lap and his breath caught as she brushed against his growing erection. "Stay still," he growled, kissing along the nape of her neck, his thumb running slowly along the crease of her thighs.

"Erik," she whined, her feet hooking behind his knees, forcing her legs apart even further.

"What do you want, Christine?" he whispered into her ear. She was silent, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. "Do you want me to touch you?" His thumb brushed gently over her underwear and she whined, her back arching as she nodded frantically. "Tell me, then."

Her fingers dug tightly into his bicep as his thumb drew teasing circles over the barrier of her underwear. "Touch me, Erik," she breathed. He hesitated, pressing his lips along her jaw. " _Please_."

He wasn't sure if it was the word itself or the desperate way she breathed it that spurred him into action. His hand slid beneath the band of her underwear and through the thick curls there until he found her core, already slick and hot to his touch. " _Christine_ ," he whispered brokenly against her ear, one finger trailing between the folds of her flesh until she gasped. There he paused, gently rolling the bundle of nerves under the calloused pad of his finger. "Good girl, Christine, already so wet and warm for me," he breathed. "Tell me, have you fantasized about this as I have?"

She didn't answer his question - he hadn't really expected her to - but her head fell back against his shoulder and her warm breath ghosted over his throat and it was answer enough for him. His free hand trailed up her stomach until he found her breast, cupping the supple, warm flesh in his hand. His fingers pulled and rolled at her already hardened nipple, his lips attached themselves to her shoulder as her hips jolted.

His hand slid lower between her legs, his thumb taking over the job of rolling the small bundle of nerves. He brushed his middle finger teasingly over her entrance. "Here?" he murmured.

"Yes, Erik," she breathed, squirming in his lap, spreading her legs for him of her own accord.

He slipped his finger gently inside of her, trying his best to ignore his own desperate want. He curled it upward, catching against that spot inside of her that made her gasp in unexpected pleasure. She quivered in his arms. "Does this hurt?" he whispered, his finger thrusting gently inside of her. She shook her head and he sighed. "So beautiful, Christine. Do you know that?" He slid his ring finger into her beside his middle finger, curving them together as she mewled under his touch. "So _perfect_ I can hardly stand it."

Her hips rolled against his hand, dragging against his erection and he groaned, his own hips grinding against her on pure instinct. Her eyes went wide with panic as she felt him. "Erik - Erik, I can't - I'm not -"

"Hush," he said soothingly, tweaking her nipple gently. He pressed a kiss to her temple, doing his best to calm her again. "You don't have to," he murmured, finding a steady, gentle pace with his fingers. "You _never_ have to do anything that you don't want to. Do you understand me?"

She nodded slowly, seeming to relax with his gentle reassurance, her grip on his sleeve loosening just the slightest bit. Her hand slid limply down his arm as she whimpered, leaning heavier against him.

His hand slid from her breast, pressing flat against her ribs as he held her tightly to him. His fingers continued their gentle dragging, pulsing pace inside of her as she edged closer and closer to her orgasm.

It was an odd feeling, watching her eyes slide closed with her pleasure. The way that her trembling lips parted, the warm flush in her cheeks. He couldn't quite tell whether the flutter he felt was in his stomach or his heart. He twisted himself slightly, pressing his lips to her eyelids and forehead.

When she blinked up at him it was with hazy eyes. Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling gently at the short hair at the base of his head as she whimpered.

"What do you want, Christine?" he whispered, unable to look away from her eyes.

With one hard tug she forced his head forward. Before he could even recognize what was happening her lips were against his, warm and needy.

He kissed her back. His lips moved against hers desperately, swallowing every whimper and needy breath. He couldn't help himself.

Her fingers dug into his skin, her hips bucking one last time against his hand. He swallowed her high pitched whine, his fingers slowing their pace as she pulsed around them.

Her mouth slid away from his as she sank bonelessly against his chest. He was hit first with a terrible feeling of loss. He slid his hand out of her underwear, his grip tight on her hip as she fought to catch her breath.

It seemed wrong to break the silence; instead he slid his hand from under her skirt, pulling her furthest leg up until he was able to nudge her into sitting across his lap.

If she was angry she gave no indication - instead she buried her forehead against his throat, her fingers clutching his black shirt. He only sighed, running his hand through her curls.

"What are you thinking about?" he finally murmured. She shook her head, her hands sliding up his chest as she pulled herself closer to him. "Tell me." He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and she sighed.

"I can't - this wasn't…" she paused, burying her face against his throat. "I have a boyfriend," she reminded him softly.

He hummed deep in his chest, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. "And I am old enough to be your father," he said with a sigh. He chuckled darkly, running his fingers gently along the gap between her shoulder blades. "If your father ever did find out he would quite literally murder me."

She pulled back, looking up at him with uncertain eyes. He wanted nothing more than to pull her mouth to his, to promise that she never had to worry again. He wanted to pull her against himself and never let go. Instead he sighed.

"No one needs to know," he promised her quietly. "It can be our secret - our mistake if that's how you have to think about it."

She nodded slowly, her finger tracing along the collar of his v-neck. "Did you mean those things that you said?" she whispered, staring at her finger against his skin.

"That you are beautiful?" he asked softly.

She nodded, still looking down as she pulled the collar of his shirt between her forefinger and thumb.

There was something so innocent and fragile in that moment that he wanted nothing more than to take her away, to protect her from the world. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, Christine."

A ghost of a smile found her at that and she glanced up at him shyly. "Thank you," she said softly.

His hand trailed down her side, finding the waistband of her skirt. "Is this comfortable?" he murmured, tugging at the elastic. She shook her head and he sighed. "Up," he said, coaxing her into standing. He caught the material in his fingers, yanking it down until she stood before him in nothing but her pink underwear. He stood, walking around her and finding an old shirt tucked in the back of his dresser. "Here," he said, making his way back to her. She had sat upon the edge of his bed, exhaustion clear on her face and he sighed. "Lift your arms." She obeyed easily and he pulled the shirt over her head, cradling her face in his palms. "You are exhausted," he observed.

"I'll be ok," she said with a yawn.

He only chuckled, pressing his lips warmly to her forehead. "Lay down, Christine. It's late."

She gave in without a fight and when he pulled the blankets back she slipped between them, letting him pull them to her chin. He reached for his cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table, tucking them into his back pocket. "Where are you going?" she asked sleepily.

"I'll be back soon," he answered, daring to brush the back of his hand against her cheek. The temptation to lean down and softly press his lips to hers was strong. He swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away.

Reaching out from under the warm blankets, she caught his hand in hers. "Erik, you won't tell my dad about the party, will you?"

"No," he promised, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"Or - or about Raoul. Please."

He nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. "I won't breathe a word about any of it, Christine."

"Thank you."

He nodded, smoothing the blankets gently before he stood.

She slipped into sleep easily, her chest rising and falling steadily. Once he was sure she was actually asleep he stumbled out of the room, steadying himself with one hand on the wall as he stumbled into the plain bathroom.

The fluorescent light burned his eyes, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Not when the ache between his legs was so incessant, so burning.

He unlatched his belt, shimmying his pants and black boxer briefs carelessly halfway down his thighs as his hand fumbled on the countertop of the sink for hand lotion. He groaned as his hand closed around his own rock hard erection, freeing it from its confines.

His other hand pressed against the white tile wall as he closed his eyes and steadied himself.

He hated himself. He despised this, but he needed the relief. He hated that when he pressed his eyes closed against the sight of himself, all that he could see was her, the look that she had given him just before she kissed him, half-lidded, dark, dazed eyes full of nothing but lust.

He groaned as he stroked himself. It was no longer his hand that gripped him just a bit too tightly - it was her warm, wet slit. He could feel the way that she would cradle him between her strong thighs. Her voice played on a loop in his head; " _Erik_ ," she would whine, her nails sinking desperately into the skin of his shoulders.

He pressed his forehead to the cool wall beside his hand, clenching his teeth as he tried to control his own volume. He could still smell her arousal on his hands, making him sigh heavily.

When he finally came, spilling over his own knuckles, there was no relief. There was only a nauseating sickness in the pit of his stomach.

He ran his hand under cold water in the sink, trying to avoid the sight of himself in the mirror. He was sick. Morals had never been his strong suit, sure enough, but this pushed beyond even his own limit.

She was so young, so inexperienced. He was friends with her _father_. Old enough to be her father himself. His stomach twisted at that thought. Gustave. If he ever found out Erik imagined he would gladly let the man kill him - he deserved it, he was sure.

He tucked himself away, doing up his belt and sighing. He avoided looking at Christine, sound asleep in his bed. While walking out to the patio he looked at the empty house. There was still a light on in the empty living room. Her jacket hung limply over the arm of the couch. She should be there, he thought, tucked safely in her own bed, oblivious to his sickening _want_. She should be up late, texting her friends about prom dresses and teachers they hated, not climbing into an ugly old man's bed and conflicting herself over her feelings for her boyfriend.

He lit a cigarette and collapsed into a chair by the front door of the small house door where he ran his hand through his hair as he exhaled. It was wrong. There was no way around that. Twenty years. He had been a man himself when she was born.

He took another long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash carelessly on the patio. Thank god he hadn't been around to see her grow up, or maybe if he had been this never would've happened. He only had seen her intentionally twice in his life when she was a baby. The first time night he left, two nights after Christine was brought home from the hospital.

The second time was the funeral. Victoria's funeral. Even as he traveled the world, went back to school for architecture, even in the first few months he was in Mexico, he kept tabs on the family he had left behind. When Victoria died, he knew he had to go back. Nobody needed to know he was there, but he needed to know that she had a proper send off and that Gustave and the child would get along.

He remembered sitting alone at the balcony over the cathedral. He wore the same suit he wore on their wedding day. He cried, dear God did he cry for her. He cried for Gustave. He cried for Christine, knowing the pain of losing a parent.

At the end of the service he dared to look out into the crowd. He found Gustave and the little girl on his hip, her wild mop of curls no different from her hair today. She would have been three. He was twenty-three.

In his much younger days, there was a pregnancy scare once. He was nineteen. It had sent him running to Gustave. He was nervous and young. His heart twisted as he thought about the fact that his child would have been _older_ than Christine. Granted, not by much, but still.

He stubbed out his cigarette, laying the butt in the ashtray he left on the patio table. He took a deep breath before he made his way back inside.

She was still asleep, twisted in his sheets, and his heart leapt into his throat. His pulse raced, remembering a horrible chain of events fifteen years ago in Mexico, when he walked into his villa to see a young, half naked girl kneeling on his bed.

" _Who sent you here?" he asked her gruffly, finding himself completely unamused._

" _I don't know," she whispered, crossing her arms in an attempt to nervously cover herself._

" _Who am I?"_

" _Ángel de la muerte," she said nervously, looking down at the bedsheets. "The man in the mask."_

" _How old are you?"_

" _Fourteen," she answered quickly._

" _Are you afraid?" he sat on the edge of the bed, leaving distance between them. When she nodded sickness hit deep in his stomach like a punch to the gut. "You don't have to be. I'm not going to touch you."_

He was as quiet as he could be as he dug through his dresser, finding a pair of black sweatpants.

He should sleep on the couch, he thought as he changed, pulling his shirt over his head. Let her have his bed, let her sleep undisturbed.

" _Erik,"_ he could her hear whimper into the darkness, like a scared little girl, "Where are you?" He heard her mumble. He made his choice of sleeping arrangements in that moment.

There was no honor in him. It was far too late for that. Instead he was climbing in beside her, slipping under the sheets. She sighed, blinking sleepily as she turned toward him. "Erik?" she whispered nervously into the dark.

"It's just me," he answered, the words catching in his throat.

She sighed, settling against his chest, her warm fingers brushing over his bare flesh. He pressed his lips to her forehead, wrapping her in his arms.

"Goodnight, Christine," he murmured.

"G'night," she slurred sleepily.

He ran his hand gently up and down her arm. He thought about the baby in the crib that wrapped her fingers around his. It was a similar feeling that stirred deep in his chest, that instintinctive need to protect, to hold her close - evolved, certainly, but for all the differences it was still very much the same. He buried his nose in her hair with a sigh.


	8. Dark Times

Christine woke warm and comfortable, a heavy blanket over her, a soft pillow under her head. The room was dark… that concerned her. That set her off. She hated the dark. It made her feel alone, and vulnerable. She made it a point to have a light on in every room of the house at one time. The sound of rain on the roof was soothing until the rumble of thunder. She blinked a few more times, getting the grogginess out of her eyes. She sprawled, stretching her calves out reaching her arms high in the air, a small squeak escaping her mouth. She looked at the bedside table, seeing the red numbers of an alarm clock staring back at her.

This isn't my room… She thought to herself. That's when she heard a deep sigh coming from beside her. Her eyes grew wide when she realized who it was - Erik. Her heart raced and she felt panic rise in her chest. She remembered.

"No one needs to know." Her lips parted, recalling how he set her body on fire with his kisses and heated, experienced touches. Nobody had ever touched her like that.

"What do you want, Christine?" He had asked when that aching burn was consuming her. She kissed him. Granted, he kissed her first but not in that way. He had asked, his voice oh so gentle and soothing, but she had refused. She then realized she was no longer in a skirt and blouse but instead a man's button down. His button down.

She slowly rolled over to face him, and her heart seemed to stop. There he lay, peacefully asleep. He was shirtless, allowing her a gratuitous peek at the hard, defined muscles of his chest and dusting of black hair. Over his heart there was another tattoo, but very small. Just three letters, 'B.R.D.' In cursive. A silver chain was around his neck, a small scorpion pendant on the end of it that caught her eye. His arm was outstretched as if he was reaching for her. His face was relaxed… it was different. He carried more tension than she had realized.

Then she noticed the mask. It was white and pristine, covering most of his forehead, and his nose, along with his cheek and jawline. It was dislodged slightly, exposing his normally covered jawline, reddened, uneven skin poking out just along the edges.

Her heart ached, remembering what her father had told her about the accident so long ago. His father dead from a car crash, changing everything Erik knew in his life She wondered what he was like before. He was handsome on the uncovered half; she knew that much. But this - whatever he concealed beneath the mask-it didn't scare her, at least not what she could see. She just felt bad for the hurt the accident and everything that had followed must have caused him over the years.

Her curiosity grew; she wanted to know more, see more of him. He had seen her in all of her vulnerability last night. She had been completely bare to him, literally. She deserved to see him like that… She meant it with no ill intent, but it could put them on even ground. When she closed her eyes she could remember just how vulnerable she had been, the way she allowed him to see her nakedness, the intimate way that she had allowed him to touch her. It still made her cheeks flush with embarrassed heat and excitement when she thought about it. She deserved to be on even ground with him.

She reached out from under the covers, her fingers trembling, her heart second guessing her curiosity. She pressed on. He twitched slightly in his sleep, making her recoil. She could hear her pulse thrumming in her ears.

Her fingers came in contact with the cool surface, and she grasped the edge where it was askew. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she removed it. She tried to hold in her gasp; not of shock, or disgust but one of sadness. It was a mottled mess of patchwork - he hardly even had an eyebrow to speak of. The skin there was grainy, deep scars running clear along the seams where they had clearly attempted to pull him back together. It was red and irritated, though she couldn't be sure if that was permanent or the ill effects of the mask rubbing against it. His cheekbone was sunken, almost as though it had been broken and never healed completely. Even the side of his nose had suffered, the edge of his nostril retracted slightly almost as though the flesh had been cut away with a pair of scissors. The skin looked papery and rough in some spots, but delicate in others where his flesh seemed to stretch thin.

She didn't dare to touch the scars. Oh. Poor Erik, she thought, to try to live with something so very difficult to hide. One split second, how thoroughly it must have changed his life in the blink of an eye.

Her lip trembled, and she tried to hold back a sob threatening to break through. She wanted desperately to know more-

Erik's green eyes flickered open, calm at first, but slowly feeling the cool air on his side of his face, Erik's whole body tensed. She had seen.

"You little bitch!" He roared, pushing himself up from the mattress. He heard a sharp gasp leave her mouth as she dropped the mask onto the floor beside the bed. He grasped her wrists, pinning them above her head with far more strength than was needed.

"Erik no, I-"

"Damn you!" His deep voice echoed off the walls of the bedroom. He could see the fear in her eyes, her sheer panic. For a moment his heart screamed at him to stop, leave her be, but his impulses said otherwise. His grip on her wrist was tighter than necessary - it was going to leave a bruise. He was hurting her. He saw her wince yet he still did not stop.

"Did anyone ever tell you not to pry? No? Is your curiosity now sated?" He pressed her wrists harder against the mattress and she didn't even fight back. She didn't struggle against the binds of his hands and yet, he still felt his grip tighten almost against his will.

"You wanted to see the face of the monster that touched you? To dare see the face of the thing whose name you cried in pleasure?"

Christine lay there silently as he pressed his face close to hers, suddenly petrified of him. Someone who a few hours ago had her wrapped in his arms, who had made her feel so safe and warm.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed. "You think that boy of yours could hurt you? He could take you by force? Look at the monster above you; I could do just the same and I didn't!" He snarled at her. She gave no reaction.

"Please stop," she whimpered weakly.

"Maybe I shouldn't - if that boy is any indication that's how you like it."

The look of betrayal in her eyes snapped him out of this monstrous rampage.

Everything in that moment came to a halt. He had said said something unforgivable and horrendous, truly the words of a monster inside and out. It didn't matter if he regretted his outburst; he had thrown the abuse back into her face. He had threatened her. The girl who a few hours ago he had felt the need to protect and comfort from the world was reduced to a trembling mass beneath his weight.

The anger he felt toward her quckly evolved into self-loathing. He looked at his hands still locked around her thin wrists, at the way he had her pinned to the bed, his knees forcing her thighs apart. He felt the tremble that ripped through her small body. He was acting the part of the monster again.

Erik tore himself away from her in horror, climbed off the other side of the bed, and ran a trembling hand through his hair, unable to look at her again. He heard the rustle of sheets followed by Christine's frantic footsteps as she bolted across the hardwood floor. He fully expected the slam of the sliding door being thrown open and nearly sent off the track. Just like that, she was gone.

Christine sprinted. It was raining and the patio tile was cold and slick under her bare feet. She slipped and fell onto the cement of the pool deck, feeling the skin on her knees tear open.

She winced and yelped, seeing the mix of blood and rain blossom on her kneecaps. Keep running, keep going… She used the adrenaline from her fear to push herself up and ran until she got herself into the safely of her home. He's coming, he's behind you! Her mind screamed at her like something out of a horror flick.

She slammed the back door shut and ran through the kitchen, not caring about the blood on her legs that was dripping onto the floor. Don't stop, get to the bedroom. Get to the corner, you're safe there! She nearly fell again trying to walk up the stairs. Racing into her room, she slammed the door shut behind her and locked it with trembling fingers.

Christine huddled herself into the small space between the dresser and a chair in the corner of her room, pressing her palm against her seeping knee in an attempt to catch the blood, as though she could heal the wound through sheer willpower alone. The panic and fear ripped at her chest; her whole body trembled. She couldn't breathe; she was drowning. Short, panicked breaths were all she couldn't manage. He hated her - he would hate her forever. She betrayed him. Someone she felt protected by betrayed her. They were breaking each other…

A sob tore form her chest, making her tremble more severely. Trust, that's what she had in him and with a few hateful words from a stupid decision she made, it crumbled into dust. She should call Gustave, call her father that's what her brain screamed at her to do. Get this man out of her house, but her heart prevented her from it. Her anxiety couldn't let her move form the corner she confined herself to. If she told Gustave, she would ruin everything. Her father would be so hurt, he could be mad at her for interacting with him. She couldn't, she wouldn't call him.

Erik sat at the edge of the bed, the sound of heavy rain on the roof that usually soothed him only drove him insane. All he could hear in this thoughts was her trembling breaths, her gasping for air as he loomed over her torso. He could still see the way she didn't even fight back, as if struggling was useless… Erik knew he was no better than her boy in that moment. Luring her with sweet words at the start of the night only to send her into a frightened frenzy moments ago.

This never ending feeling of being sick with himself settled deep inside, and he found himself literally bent over a toilet bowl as bile rose in his throat.

"How you like it…" That phrase echoed through his head. He had threatened something her with could never take back, he had terrified a young girl. She didn't have any ill intent when she took it off, he couldn't believe there was a fraction of her that could intentionally harm anyone.

He stood, clutching his stomach, wiping his mouth with his forearm. He flushed the toilet and looked into the mirror, at the mottled mess that could hardly even be called a face.

"You acted like the monster they made you out to be," he muttered to his reflection.

He needed to see her, to apologize. To make sure she was okay at least. She didn't deserve that, to see that side of him that emerge. He staggered out of the bathroom, pulling on the black shirt from last night that was on the floor, next to her clothes. Her skirt was a wrinkled mess on the floor, her bra next to it. He wandered out, finding her white blouse discarded on the floor next to the couch. He sighed, remembering how willing she had been, the way she let him strip her down and redress her in his shirt. Tucking her into his bed, safe and protected from the world with him there 'protecting' her.

Erik picked up her clothing, folding it neatly on the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair that had fallen in front of his face. Picking up the clothes, he swallowed the small bit of pride he still had and walked out the sliding doors that still were open from her running out of the guest house. He walked through the rain, his toes curling against the cold, wet tile. That's when he saw the bit of blood that wasn't washed away by the rain yet. She had fallen, running from him, fearing he would chase her. He looked away from the small specks of blood now being washed away by the rain, he pressed on towards the house.

The slider door was left open, the entrance wet from the rain. He walked in, closing the door behind him. He saw the blood stains again, this time in small footprints. She was bleeding a lot.

"Oh God," he murmured. Bile rose in his throat a second time. He quickly swallowed it back down again.

Christine shouldn't have meant a damn thing to him. For hears he had been an asset to the cartel. At one time he'd been able to turn his head the other way when groups of women were brought through the tunnels, bound and gagged, pleading for mercy as they had attempted to meet his eye.

He had people shot because of his own paranoia during the construction of the tunnels. Men with wives and children... He had gone to prison for eight years. Yet, here he was. Making himself sick over an eighteen-year old girl whom he had scared.

His as he thought back to those times, those memories that haunted him as he laid in his prison cell through eight years returned. Those women, he could've stopped that, or intervened. He could've done something. Those girls, they were Christine's age for Christ's sake. Going to be used, and sold for sex. He regretted so much in his life, and this was just one more thing to add to the already lengthy list.

He walked up the stairs to her bedroom, clothing still in hand, and stopped at her door. His aching heart raced as he composed his thoughts, unsure of what he could possibly say to fix the damage he had done.

"Christine?" he said softly, knocking at the door.

Then he heard one sharp gasp muffled through the door. It was a sharp, desperate inhale of air, the kind of breath a person on the verge of drowning takes. He'd forced her head beneath the water's surface, taken that last breath from her lungs.

His heart shattered, he was sure of it. He wouldn't knock again, wouldn't call out for her again. He wouldn't scare her any further. Before he could set her clothes down, Christine began to sob. He great tremble went through his body… This wasn't supposed to happen. Any of it.

Erik had to practically tear himself away from her bedroom door. He couldn't be here, on this property.. He shouldn't be anywhere near her in this moment. He wouldn't be shocked if she never spoke to him again. He placed the clothes in front of her door, looked at the doorknob briefly, and stormed out of the house and into the rain.

He dressed himself quickly, feeling the need to leave this house as soon as possible. He needed to get away from this, an escape.

He drove eighty the whole way to downtown Santa Monica in the rain and found a bar that was open in the late morning on a rainy Sunday. The place he chose was a run down bar with a neon sign saying 'rooms available' and a picture of a half-naked woman next to it. Perfect.

He pulled his jacket hood up and dragged himself inside the dark, seedy bar. We need a good description of this place. Are most of the bar stools empty? Are there names carved into the table tops? Song on the jukebox and a muted TV in the corner? Is the floor sticky and disgusting?

He needed to drink Christine out of his mind for the rest of the day and probably the night. He slunk into a bar stool in the darkest corner of the room. The place had a handful of pathetic day drinkers, other men hunched over their unfinished drinks that looked as rough as he felt. A few girls barely pushing twenty-one sat in a booth in the opposite corner of the bar. All of them had makeup caked on their face, with far too tight for comfort dressed on. Most wore fishnets and tights that were shagged with holes. Cheap beer and fruity drinks sat on their dirty table, they obviously had been here since the early morning. He glanced at them when a few giggles emerged from their crowded booth. One of them, the red head, waved at him. Turning away, he rolled his eyes, not in the mood for being stared at.

"What can I getcha' man?" The large man from behind the bar asked as he sauntered up, looked Erik over, and grimaced. Erik internally cringed at the bartender's appearance; shaggy hair, a beard that needed a trim and a beer belly. And stained white T-shirt with a black apron tied at the waist.

"Three shots of whiskey, open a tab," Erik grumbled. He pulled his gaze away from the bartender and pretended to study the flat screen mounted to the wall.

"Hah, you and just about every other sorry asshole in here today wants an open tab I guess," the bartender said as he turned to grab glasses from behind the bar.

Erik pulled out his phone, not sure what he was looking for but instead scrolled through the news, but nothing interesting enough to distract him from thoughts of Christine.

Three shot glasses were lined up in front of him, and he turned his attention back to the bartender. He tossed back the first one, feeling the burn of the cheap old crown whiskey in the back of his throat. He swallowed down down the amber liquor, he did the same with the next two.

"Three more," he rasped pulling out his pack of cigarettes.

"No smoking, buddy," the bartender said. Erik ignored him an lit up anyways, puffing the smoke out hard enough to waft into the bartender's face. "You deaf? I said no smoking in the bar, go outside, man." Erik hastily pulled out his wallet and tossed a fifty dollar bill at the man.

"Now will you fuck off and let me smoke?" Erik snapped, tucking his wallet into his back pocket. The bartender grunted and slid the fifty in his pocket and shook his head with a smug smirk.

"You're in a bad way, ain't ya?" The fat man said, pouring whiskey into the glasses again.

"Do you have something against silence?" Erik said lowly, glaring at the man from under the hood of his jacket. The bartender looked at Erik and kept his mouth shut. Erik threw back another shot and took a drag of his cigarette. He glanced up at the TV in time to catch the end of the weather report.

"Schools in the Santa Monica area have been closed for the next two days due to flooding," the TV announced, and Erik scoffed. Great, Christine would be home for the next two days. Now he needed to stay out of the house for longer. He wondered what she was doing right now at this moment.

He went to flick the ash off his cigarette, only to have a bread and butter plate slid down the bar towards him,

"Use that," a young woman said from a few feet away. Erik looked up and saw a red head staring at him. She was young, her face caked in makeup, and long hair pulled into a messy braid. She was pretty in a street trash way, the kind of girl he knew banged whatever guy noticed her. He unabashedly looked her up and down, his gaze pausing for a long moment on her tight jean skirt reaching the apex of her thighs and fishnets underneath. Her tight top hardly covering her breasts and lack of a bra showed off her nipples straining against her tank top with a faded band logo. She caught his gaze, and stuck her tongue out at him, biting it lightly where there was a piercing. Erik was no stranger to hookers; he had enjoyed the company of a four dollar whore in Mexico and after the accident.

"Drowning your sadness? I feel that." She sighed, walking toward him. Her six-inch heels clicked the hardwood floor, hips swinging like a pendulum. Erik rolled his eyes again, and turned his attention away from her. "Not a big talker are you?" She giggled, and he felt her standing very close to him by the smell of her overused perfume. "That's alright, I guess I'll just do the talking then," she said pulling out the barstool next to him. He scooted closer to the edge of his stool.

"I promise I don't bite," she said lowly, biting her lip and staring at him. Unless he's into that… Erik huffed out a laugh.

"Can you not take a hint of when you aren't wanted?" He growled, glaring at her, but she only smiled.

"I'm pretty sure you could use me to ease your sadness," she whispered as he tossed back another drink.

"Three more," Erik yelled to the bartender who was busy on his phone,

"Make it five, the poor man looks like he could use it after his hard day," She said placing a hand gently on his upper thigh. Erik tensed, but he didn't push her hand away. He only looked her at her. "I could make you forget about it, whatever is troubling you," she whispered in his ear, and her hand trailed over his cock, "I'll let you finish your drinks, then we can have some fun," she giggled.

"Have some fun," he grumbled, tensing as her thumb brushed against his inner thigh. "Bold of you to assume I could afford you - or would want to."

The tips of her fingers brushed over his half-erection and she smiled. "I think that is indication enough. Heartbreak is a hard time - let me help you mister…?"

"Doesn't matter," he gruffed, throwing back the first shot in the line of them that the bartender left on the countertop. "Names aren't very meaningful in your line of work."

"Well you're full of charm," she teased, running her fingertip over the zipper of his pants under the ledge of the bar. "What am I supposed to call you, then?"

"Hey you works just fine," Erik said, running his finger over the rim of the next shot glass. "Wouldn't want you under the impression that this relationship will last any longer than the next few hours."

"So I guess that's a yes?" she asked, pressing her palm flat against his cock.

Erik gave no answer. Instead he knocked back the next two shots in quick succession. "Why did you approach me?" His voice burned with the cheap whiskey at the back of his throat.

She stroked him through his pants. "You're lonely," she said thoughtfully. "You're trying to forget someone. I'd recognize that look anywhere. What's her name?"

"I'm not talking about this," he said, knocking back the forth shot and grimacing at the taste.

The escort hummed, resting her chin against his shoulder as her hand continued to stroke over his still only half-responsive cock. "I'm a psychic, you don't have to tell me," she murmured low and quietly into his ear. "Ain't a woman alive worth that much pain and worry - pussy isn't rare and I doubt hers is golden. Women would line up for a chance with a handsome man like you - we like a little mystery."

He turned the shot glass on the counter between his thumb and forefinger, staring at the watery amber color of the cheap booze. He shouldn't be here. He should be at home, on his knees, begging Christine to forgive him, begging her to forget what had happened. He should be on the phone with Gustave, confessing his crimes and packing his bags so he could be out before Christine came back downstairs.

Wherever he should be it wasn't in a trashy, no-name bar. It wasn't with a cheap hooker on an unpolished bar stool knocking back cheap whiskey mid-afternoon on a Sunday. This was one place he was sure he shouldn't be. As the escort gripping him a bit tighter through his jeans making a quiet groan leave his mouth, he made his decision.

He threw back the last shot and reached into his wallet, throwing three twenties on the counter. He caught the bartender's eye and motioned him closer. "That was well liquor. Keep the change and buy a real bottle of booze." He reached down, catching the escort's wrist tightly in his hand and looking over at her as she pulled away from him. "The cheapest, nearest hotel," he said low in his throat. "If you try to pull any stupid shit it's gonna go south fast."

"I'm not gonna rob you," she said, seemingly unfazed by his accusation. She led him down the street on foot, his hand tight on her wrist the whole way. He stumbled and zigzagged very few paces. His vision blurred as would trip up. They traveled mostly in silence - he was grateful for that.

It was one of those hotels that was easily identified as trashy- a cheap hourly rate was listed on the fluorescent sign out front. Hourly, nightly and weekly. It was charming in its own way. Erik had practically lived in hotels like this - that short space between leaving Gustave and finding his way into Mexico had been filled with nights he couldn't quite remember and the sound of buzzing fluorescent lights in a cheap and stained hotel room. He was almost grateful that he couldn't remember much of that time clearly.

"Two hours," he told the grimy man at the counter, handing his credit card over. He never bothered much to cover his own tracks - the room would be booked under his real name. "That should be enough, shouldn't it dear?" he said, looking over at the escort who's wrist he still held just a bit too tightly.

"He's a charmer, Jeff," she said, smiling at the man behind the counter. "Man's heart is broken - be a dear and give him my discount will you? Two hours is perfect."

"Anything for you, Sam," the man Erik now knew as Jeff said, running Erik's card through the machine and handing it back over. He dug for a moment through an envelope and then slid an electronic key across the counter. "One fifteen, just up the hall and to the left. She can show ya."

"I'm sure she can," he murmured, prying the card off of the counter. It wasn't until they were a bit down the hallway that he shifted his hand on her, grasping her elbow and pulling her closer to his side. "Sam? You had free reign to pick any name you wanted and Sam was the best you came up with?"

"I'm a prostitute not a princess," she huffed, glancing over at him. "I do well to remember that - you and me, I don't think were really so different, mister."

"How does business go for you?" he asked, arching his visible eyebrow and stumbling a bit as he turned to the room marked '115'.

"I do well enough," she said, turning the knob and pushing the door open after the lock buzzed on his third attempt at swiping it.

"Remarkable," he mumbled, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Treat clients the way you've treated me this evening and I don't think you'll have any left."

"You're here," she said, pushing him back against the door.

He huffed as his back slammed against the wood. "I think that says more about me than it does anything else," he said when he regained his breath, leaning back against the door as her hand trailed under the edge of his shirt and pushed upwards, her fingers trailing through the hair on his chest.

"It's gonna be a hundred for-"

Her sentence ended when his hand tangled in her terrible, wispy red hair and he yanked it back, staring down at her. "Bill me later," he grumbled. "I don't care right now."

Her lips parted, but before she could make any sort of response, his mouth was against hers. He kissed her forcefully, sloppily, as though if only he kissed her in the right way it would make the room that had suddenly decided it wanted to spin settle down again. She arched herself against him, kissing him back fully as her hand trailed down to his belt buckle.

He broke the kiss, cradling her face in his palms as she worked his belt open. He wasn't sure whether it was the alcohol or simple fact but she was prettier up close, when he could see more than just the thick layers of makeup caked on her face. Her lips were full and soft and there was something almost gentle in her eyes. She was pretty in a simple, plain kind of way. Unremarkable but by no means ugly.

He kissed her again before he could follow that particular train of thought any further, biting gently at her lower lip. That was what he needed. Something completely freeing - a woman that he could touch in any way that he pleased and not feel guilty about it.

"Freckles," he grumbled stupidly as he broke the kiss and let his head fall back against the door.

"What?" she asked with a breathy chuckle.

He trailed his fingers against her scalp, brushing back her red hair. "You're a natural redhead," he mumbled. "Your freckles are what you hide under all that makeup."

She popped open the top button of his jeans and pulled the zipper, looking at him curiously. "You're observant."

"And you should be on your knees."

She made no argument. She didn't even give a witty comeback as he had half expected her to - instead she sank down in front of him on her knees, pulling his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs.

She took his half-hard cock in her mouth without hesitation and he heard the thud of his head falling back against the door more than he felt it.

She hummed, bobbing her head lazily as she pressed her tongue against the underside of his cock and attempted to coax some sort of response out of him. He was nauseous - his stomach churned and the room seemed to tilt to the left. He anchored himself with his palm on the back of her head. He could feel the metal of the ball on her piercing on the underside of his cock.

He stared down at her and - oh, it wasn't the room that tilted to the left. It was only his head. He groaned, pressing her head closer, pressing his hips forward. She made an exaggerated gagging sound and he huffed. He couldn't quite figure out what she gagged on - he wasn't even half hard anymore. It certainly didn't impede her enthusiastic attempts to blow him.

He pulled her back by her hair, looking at her carefully. "Your hand. Try your hand for a moment."

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his cock and she jerked him carefully, expertly. "Is it me?" she asked, biting her lip as she looked up at him.

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm more drunk than I thought."

"Would it help if I - if I gave you something to look at?" she asked, gesturing at her top with her free hand.

He gave half a shrug, letting go of her hair. "It's worth a shot."

She let go of him and pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it on the floor behind her. "Anything?" she asked, wrapping her hand around his cock and attempting to breathe some life into it.

He stared at her breasts - they were perky and young, her nipples were surprisingly pink and her waist was slim. "No," he breathed, letting his head fall back against the door again with a sigh. "Keep trying."

Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock and he closed his eyes. He saw brown hair - frizzy brown curls and a pale face. Blue eyes stared up at him instead of the prostitute's brown eyes, it was her perfect, pink lips wrapped around his cock. He reached down, his fingers carding through the prostitute's hair. With his eyes closed he could almost convince himself that she was Christine - their hair had an oddly similar texture.

He felt himself finally, finally begin to stiffen as he remembered that look on her face the night before just when she was about to kiss him - full of pleasure, completely relaxed and unguarded in his arms.

"There you are," the prostitute murmured, sinking back down on him.

He blinked, looking down at her. "Stop," he said, pulling her back by her hair. "Stop now. This was a mistake."

He lost the image of Christine when he opened his eyes and he could already feel himself losing the half-erection.

He reached down, yanking his boxers and jeans back up. "It isn't you," he said, pulling his belt closed.

"Wait," she said, catching his wrist. "Tell me what you need me to do - I'll do it."

He grunted, pulling her hand off of his wrist. "Can you shapeshift?" he murmured. She shook her head and he gave a half hearted smile. "Then I'm afraid there's nothing you can do. It's me."

"There has to be something-"

"No," he said softly. "It isn't your fault - you aren't her. Anyone else right now and I would be in the same place. I'll still pay you."

"It's usually a hundred for a blow but - considering the circumstances I think fifty would be more appropriate."

He looked over her carefully, still kneeling on the stained carpet in front of him with her breasts exposed to him. He found his wallet and fished out two crisp hundred dollar bills, holding them out to her from the tips of his fingers. "Raise your prices or change your profession," he said as she took the money from him. "The kind of clients that will pay a hundred for a blow are the kind that will stuff you in their trunk."

The girls mouth hung open at his comment as he did up his belt and adjusted his shirt. In attempt to walk around her, Erik stumbled over his own feet and only caught himself on the bed. The whole world was spinning out of control, metaphorically and literally.

"You good?" Sam asked, and Erik felt her hand land on his shoulder.

"Better than ever," he snarled, jerking his shoulder away from her touch.

"I'm guessing that your car was the sporty black Audi out front-"

"Touch my car- I, myself, will stuff you in the back of it," he growled, ending it with a not well concealed belch.

"I ain't gonna touch it, you just shouldn't be driving a car like that while banged up like this," she said, and he felt the mattress he was leaning over press down as she sat next to him.

"I'm fine," he muttered while attempting to stable himself enough to stand.

"No, you're not- Listen, let me talk to Jeff and he will probably give you the room to sleep it off for the day and you can leave when you're sobered up."

"Why the fuck do you care?" he rasped.

"I don't. But the girl you keep thinkin' about may care if you die in a car accident," she grunted, rolling her eyes while pulling her top back over her head.

Erik groaned again as his stomach did a flip thinking about the state he left Christine in. "She would most likely be happy if I died-"

"Probably not, women may tell you to go crawl in a hole and die, but most of the time we don't mean it literally," she laughed gently.

"I really must be fucked up, because here I am, taking advice from a whore," he said through clenched teeth, trying his best to prevent the bile in his stomach rom coming up.

"I may be a whore, but I know women," she snapped, standing up. He glanced her way and the room shifted again as he turned his head. "I'll let Jeff know that you may be stayin' the night. Your choice," she shrugged, as she stood and made her way towards the door. "I'll take your advice on the prices, hopefully I won't see ya around mister." She said opening the door, he was only a few moments ago pressed up against. Sam hesitated before leaving, "Go back to your girl. You're like a sad drunk puppy, its messing with my vibe." And she walked out, slamming the door shut behind her.

Erik stayed there, kneeled over the bed. His stomach still twisting, the room still spun. A bead of sweat from the humidity of the motel room and his overheated body ran down his forehead. He should stay the night, he knew that. It wasn't for himself, it was to simply prevent himself from injuring someone else. God knows he had enough innocent blood on his hands already.

Using all of the strength he could muster, he pushed himself up on to the bed. For a thin man, it felt like he was pushing a few thousand pounds onto the bed. The bed was creaky and smelled of dust and mildew. He didn't want to think about the last time these sheets must've been washed, and what activities must've been done in them. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the spinning once more, and found himself longing for Christine to be wrapped in his arms again.


	9. Pretty When You Cry

Erik woke to a banging on the door.

"Get up! Pay and get out of here!" A gruff voice yelled from the other side of the door. Erik's head pounded and ears rang with the sound of the yelling. He groaned at the pain, and rolled over feeling the scratchy sheets under his hands.

"I'll break down the door if I gotta, man!" The voice shouted again. Erik rolled over on the mattress, feeling springs poking him in the back.

"Give me a goddamn minute!" Erik roared, hurting his own head with his own shouting. He heard footsteps stomp down the hallway, and Erik sighed while remembering the day before. Sam, that was her name the hooker who gave an attempt to blow him. He couldn't get hard. It was pitiful, he was a drunken fool in desperate need of relief from his encounter with Christine.

 _Christine,_ oh God Christine. The poor girl, he had scared her witless and taken off from the house like the coward he was- a loud crack of thunder from outside interrupted his thoughts. The storm, she was home alone during a horrible storm. No matter if she hated him or not, he needed to be home. There it was again, his urge to protect her from everything. Even a storm, something he couldn't control. With that, he stood while his head pounded at the movement. He felt his pockets for wallet and keys, finding himself surprised that they hadn't been stolen. As he walked out the door of the disgusting hotel room, he tossed a hundred dollar bill that he fished from his wallet at the front desk and stormed out the door without a word. He walked towards his car in the pouring rain to head home.

When Erik returned back to the house, he carefully snuck around the side yard towards the guest house. All he wanted was a comfortable bed and a few more hours of sleep and escape before he thought about what to do with the situation involving Christine.

As he sprawled out in his bed, a lound crack of thunder rang through the air. Erik had always enjoyed thunderstorms. There was something soothing to be found in the loud pattering of rain against the window, something calming in the flashes of light across the sky. He couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly was so desirable in the low rumble but he enjoyed them all the same. It was important to find pleasure in the small things. Eight years in prison had a way of doing that to a man; it only reminded him how very much he had honestly taken for granted.

He only woke hours later in the evening to another crack of thunder causing the power to surge. Car alarms down the street went off, and Erik groaned. Now he knew as a adult, as Gustave's friend he needed to check on Christine. Or that was just the excuse he made for himself to see her.

As Erik trekked through the monsoon of rain into the house, it was a contrast to the norm. All was dark and quiet in there too. Christine was always making some sort of noise. She played obnoxious music to fill the silence. He pretended it annoyed him but he didn't realize how comforting it really was until it was gone. After everything that occurred over the last few days the silence was unsettling.

As much as he tried to pretend he didn't care **,** he worried about her. Her smile was always forced and fragile, her laugh was hollow and the way that she shut herself away alone in her bedroom reminded him remarkably of himself.

"Christine?" he called into the silent house.

There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. He had terrified the poor girl. He certainly wouldn't go running into his own arms under normal circumstances - after the way he had behaved he wouldn't be particularly surprised if she was actively hiding from him.

That didn't stop him from looking for her.

He found her, eventually, tucked between her dresser and a chair on the floor with her face pressed against her knees.

"Christine?" he said softly, knocking gently on the frame of her open bedroom door. Her only answer was a sniffle and the tightening of her arms around her knees. "Christine, what are you doing?"

"I tried to call Raoul." Even though the words were muffled against her knees he could still hear the weak tremble of her voice. "Twice. He didn't answer - he didn't - he never answers anymore. And if I call him again he - he'll get mad."

Erik shifted awkwardly in the doorway. "Can I come in?"

She sniffled and her trembling shoulders gave half a shrug.

It was enough of an answer. He made his way across the room, trying his best to ignore the stuffed animals on her bed and the band posters taped to the walls. Slowly he knelt in front of her. "What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_ \- nothing ever _happens_ ," the words were weak and wavering with an aimless frustration. "Marie is probably asleep and she wouldn't want me to keep Meg up and I - it's so dark."

"Is that what's wrong?" he asked gently. "The power being out?"

"Yes," she whispered, and then; "no. I - I don't _know_. It's just so quiet."

Thunder shook the house and she sniffled, peeking up at him. She wasn't crying. Her shoulders trembled, her lower lip shook, her eyes were red-rimmed and tired but there were no tears. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Sometimes I can't breathe," she whispered, her chin resting on her knees. "It burns, it aches - I just, I can't breathe and no one - no one is there and I'm all alone and it's just - oh, it's so _stupid_. It's _stupid_ but it's scary. It's so scary and dark and quiet and -"

"Slow down," he said softly. She shivered, pressing her eyes closed. "It isn't stupid."

"It _is_ though. It doesn't - doesn't make any sense. Dad says that I'll grow out of it, that it'll get better but it - it keeps happening and it's _worse_ now and I think - I think there must be something wrong with me. Like, maybe I'm broken or something. Maybe that's why - why Raoul doesn't answer the phone anymore."

Erik's own chest began to ache. He studied her carefully, curled so tightly in the corner, the angry red scrape on her knee poking out from beneath her arm. _He_ had done that. He wondered if this was the same place she went to that morning. How terribly that thought made the guilt grow. "You are not _broken_ , Christine. That boy is his own problem. And you aren't alone - you could have come to me. Why didn't you?"

"You're mad at me and I don't wanna bother you with this. It - it's stupid."

"I'm not mad at you," he said, the words sticky and painful in his throat. "Come out of there."

She shook her head, squeezing her legs. "It's better down here."

"You need to come out," he cajoled, offering her his hand. "You'll feel better."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

She shook her head again. "If I let go I think I'll fall apart."

"Come out," he coaxed gently. "You aren't alone, Christine. I'm right here. I won't let you fall apart."

She pressed her face into her knees but she reached out, taking the hand that he offered her. He stared at the bruises around her wrist, yellowed and shaped like his fingers. The ache was similar to being shot with an arrow through the chest. Her little fingers trembled so terribly that for a moment he was almost afraid that she was right - that she would unfurl herself and pass out.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Come here," he said. "You are doing so well - just a little further."

He leaned forward, laying his free hand on her other shoulder. She looked up and after a long moment she began to respond; she shifted, lifting herself up on her knees. "I can't - can I -"

"You can," he said. "Whatever you need, Christine. I am here. I'm right here and I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me you're ok."

With his reassurance she crumpled. She fell into his arms, her hands clutched tightly at his shoulders and her face pressed into his chest. When she finally began to cry there was some relief to be found in it.

He held her tightly right there on the carpet of her bedroom, her head tucked under his chin. He held the girl he had threatened, the one he terrified. She was alone - so alone that she fell into the arms of a man who had threatened her. A man who had bruised her, had made her bleed. He pressed his palm gently to the back of her head.

"I'm sorry," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm so sorry."

He held her close, daring to press his lips to the top of her head. "Why are you sorry?"

She shook her head, clutching him so tightly that he could feel her nails through his shirt. "I'm so stupid," she gasped. "I'm - I'm needy and I'm immature and I - I shouldn't have, Erik. I shouldn't have taken your mask but I did - I did because I was so curious and I should have apologized then but you - you were so angry and you scared me so bad and I - I - I-"

"Shush," he soothed, rocking her gently. "I never want to hear you call yourself stupid again. You are not stupid, Christine, and there is nothing wrong with needing." He sighed, one hand carding through her curls as he pulled her against his chest. "I'm sorry that I scared you. Now you know why I wear the mask."

She sniffed, her grip loosening the slightest bit. "It wasn't your face. It was the - the yelling. I don't like yelling and it - it was just the yelling."

He pressed his eyes closed. He could still see the terrified way she had stared up at him, his tight grip on her wrists. The way he had forced her thighs apart with his knees and sneered over her - she had trembled then too. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I am so, so, sorry Christine. You did not deserve to be spoken to that way-"

"I thought - I thought you hated me," she sniffed. "That's why I didn't come to you and I still - I kinda think that still but you're here and I don't… I don't know why you're being so nice to me - I think that maybe - maybe it's _because_ I'm broken and that kinda scares me too and I don't know what to do with it because no one - no one has ever been like this with me."

His palm rubbed soothing circles in the tense muscles of her back. "You are not broken, Christine," he said again. "You have anxiety, that's all. That's what this is. You are not broken or damaged."

"Anxiety? Dad says it's not real, it's just an excuse…" she whispered.

"It feels like you're drowning," he answered softly, feeling much the same way in that moment. "You think, for some time, that you're actually going to die. You're having a panic attack, Christine. I have had a few in my time too. You just need to breathe through it."

She pulled away, wiping at her face with still-trembling fingers. "Do they go away?"

"You learn to manage it," he offered gently. "You learn what you need, you learn how to relax and get it out. I don't know if you've noticed but you're a little high-strung." He smiled sadly at the huff of a laugh she gave at that. "Not completely, Christine. But it gets easier."

When she wrapped her arms around herself it wasn't quite as tightly. She took two deep, shaky breaths and sighed, staring at the buttons on his shirt. "Will you stay with me?" Her cheeks flushed with her question. "Just - just until the power comes back on."

He swallowed hard. How could she even look at him? How could she ever feel safe with him there again? How could she - well, _forgive_ so easily? "I'll stay for as long as you need me to."

"Thank you," she mumbled, embarrassed.

Hesitantly he put one palm to her cheek, stroking her temple with his thumb, looking over her exhausted face and tear-filled eyes. "Come to me next time. Don't let it get this bad."

She shook her head, leaning into his touch only the slightest bit. "I don't think I would've made it anyway," she admitted quietly. "You'd have just found me in the living room instead."

"Give me your phone."

It was a split-second thought and she looked at him oddly - she still stood on shaky legs and walked across the room, unplugging the phone from the charger made useless by the power outage.

He met her halfway, taking it from her hands and sitting on the edge of her bed as he scrolled through it.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, sitting beside him.

"Giving you my phone number," he answered. "And when your boy does not answer, and when Meg needs sleep, I will answer. I will always answer."

Guilt. That was surely all this could be. He had never fared well when women _cried_. He had never really been good at comforting anyone. He saved the contact and handed her phone back to her. She ran her thumb slowly along the edge of it, staring at the new contact until the screen dimmed from the lack of use. "Thank you," she said softly.

When he scooted across the bed, when he laid beside her, it was not as strange as he had feared it would be. She didn't recoil - instead she curled gratefully in his arms. When he began to hum she relaxed against him. He curled himself around her back, running his fingers gently over her bruised wrists until even the tremble in the tips of her fingers abated. She sighed softly, yawning.

When he began to sing - oh, when he began to sing quietly, gently, her eyes slid closed. There were no further words from her lips, there was no confrontation or argument. She slipped into a peaceful sleep easily, lulled by his voice and exhausted by her anxiety.

When the power flicked back on he didn't move. Instead he just tucked her head under his chin. He coveted the heat of her body pressed so closely against his. The sound of her even, deep breaths was soothing and he found himself drifting to sleep right there in her four-poster bed.

* * *

_15 years earlier_

_Mexico_

Her hair was black. He wasn't sure why, out of everything in the moment, that stood out to him the most but it did. Her long, pin-straight black hair. Maybe it was because he couldn't bring himself to look at her hardly-covered body as she knelt on his bed - maybe it was because when he looked into her frightened eyes he felt his stomach twist painfully. Instead he stared at her hair.

"Señor," she said, her voice small and childish.

"Erik," he answered quietly. "My name is Erik. Not Ángel de la muerte, not anything but Erik."

She only shifted slightly, crossing her arms nervously in front of her nearly flat chest almost as though she were trying to cover herself. Erik swallowed thickly, looking over the room.

He found the shirt he had discarded haphazardly on the floor the night before and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. "Cover yourself, chiquita," he said, feeling bile burn in the back of his throat. Surely this was some sort of sick and twisted joke - she couldn't have been much older than twelve - thirteen with his most generous guess. She was thin, fit, but baby fat was still evident in her round cheeks. Her little hands held the shirt closed tightly in front of herself. "What did they say to you?"

She looked down at her hands, at the shirt she was wrapped in. "They tell me to please you."

Her English was broken, her pronunciation was muddled and nervous. He moved slowly, sitting cautiously on the edge of the mattress. The way she stiffened didn't escape his notice. He folded his hands together in his lap, leaving a few inches of space between them. "What is your name, chiquita?"

"Luciana," she answered quickly.

He glanced at her. "Luciana," he repeated softly. "That is a very pretty name, chiquita. How old are you?"

"Tengo catorce años," she said, pulling his shirt just a bit tighter around her shoulders.

Fourteen. If she was fourteen it was certainly a young fourteen. "Where are your parents?" he asked gently, staring at her now. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Mamá," he clarified. "Papá."

"Oh," she breathed, shrugging her shoulders. "Mi madré esta muerta… mi padre…" she trailed off with a shrug. "No lo sé."

Erik wasn't quite sure why, out of everything in the situation, that seemed to strike him the hardest. He stared at his hands in his lap, swallowing hard. "You are not going to… to _please_ me," he said, shuddering at the implication behind the words. "I'm not going to touch you, little Luciana. You are safe here… estás a salvo aquí."

He would remember the way she laid in his bed that night for the rest of his life. She was stiff and frightened. He would forever remember the distrustful way she had stared at him as he explained that yes, she must sleep in his bed and no, he would not touch her. She lay stiff in his arms, her back against his chest as he contemplated all of the different ways he could murder Jefe and still have a chance of getting away with it.

* * *

When Erik woke it was with the distinct feeling that he was somewhere that he shouldn't be. He blinked up at the gauzy canopy over the four-poster bed, tilting his head to look at the dim tea-lights strung around the border of the room.

He was _certainly_ not supposed to be there.

He looked down at the girl in his arms, her curly hair obscuring her face. _Christine_. She had a panic attack - he had only meant to check on her, to make sure that she was okay after the power went out.

She was warm and comfortable in his arms. There was something that felt remarkably familiar about the way that she laid against him, her back pressed to his chest. It felt strangely _right_ to hold her like this. He dared to reach out, brushing her hair back gently in an attempt not to disturb her sleep. Her brow furrowed and she whimpered slightly but aside from that she didn't stir a bit. She settled straight back into peacefulness when he brushed his thumb against her waist.

Her perfect, rosy lips parted slightly. She looked like an angel, peaceful and innocent in her sleep. He stared at her, trying to memorize her like this. It was a beautiful thing to wake up to, even if it was wrong in a million ways. He cleared his throat slightly, and he felt her stir a bit **.**

"Hmm **,"** she whimpered, rolling into his chest and sighing contently. He tried his best to stay quiet, until a great grumble emerged from his stomach, he peered at the clock over her shoulder, it was ten in the morning. They had slept for almost twelve hours in each others embrace,

"Was that your stomach?" He heard her mumble. He looked down at her and found her blue eyes looking back at him **.**

"Yeah, I haven't eaten all day, well night now." He chuckled lightly **.** "I'm going to go get some food, go back to sleep if you want, Christine," he said softly, brushing his thumb over her jawline **.**

"No, I want to get up with you," as the words let her mouth she opened her eyes, and a red blush came over her face, "I'm kinda hungry **,** actually," she mumbled, arching her back and making a small squeaking noise as she stretched. He smirked at her, how her face squished up and her brows furrowed. She looked up at him and smiled, "Thank you for staying with me last night, Erik," she said softly,

"You're welcome," he said, leaning over and pressing his lips to her hairline. He shouldn't feel like he had the right to kiss her like that, yet he did it anyways, "Come on, I'll make you breakfast," he murmured scooting out of the bed. He heard her sigh and roll over to hop off the other side. How badly he wanted to walk over and kiss her good morning but he knew it was not a wise choice. He walked toward the door, before he felt her grab his hand **.**

"Erik, will- um, can I," she couldn't put the sentence together, and he looked at her curiously.

"What is it?" He asked softly.

"Nothing, it's stupid, never mind," she sighed letting his hand go and walking out the door of her bedroom.

He trailed behind her and she stopped just a bit up the hallway, pivoting on her feet.

"It isn't stupid," she decided confidently. "I want to - I mean, can I…" she huffed, her confidence melting away as she stared at the top button of his shirt.

He tilted her chin up, barely touching her with the side of his finger. "What do you want to do Christine?"

"I want to - I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don't know why this is so difficult for me."

"Just tell me," he coaxed gently. "Whatever it is I'm sure it's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I want to kiss you," she mumbled, staring at the edge of his mask on his nose.

He swallowed, his hand sliding down and following the line of her jaw as he tilted her head up just a bit more. "You do?"

She nodded and he nodded along with her, slowly.

"On the lips?" he breathed, watching her face carefully. She nodded again and he sighed, leaning forward and pressing his lips against hers.

He was surprised by the way she kissed him back hungrily. Her hand closed around his arm and his hand slid back into her hair, pulling her closer as he kissed her just a bit more deeply than he intended to. Coaxing her mouth to open for him and giving a sigh of relief at how easily she did. She whimpered and Erik smirked into the kiss.

When he broke the kiss it was out of sheer necessity. He wasn't sure just how much more he could handle without snapping entirely. "I wanted to kiss you too, Christine," he said gruffly, sliding his hand out of her hair. When her hand slid down his wrist and her fingers tangled with his he didn't acknowledge it.

"Erik?" she whispered as he led her down the hallway and toward the kitchen. He glanced back at her and she sighed. "Thank you. For everything **."**

Erik only nodded, still in disbelief that she would be thanking him for anything. He didn't deserve gratitude from her, he deserved hate and spite for the way he treated her.

He deserved none of this, yet he would take whatever was given to him.


	10. R U Mine?

Two days since Erik spent the night for the second time in bed with Christine wrapped up in his arms, he felt this ownership over her. He wanted her to be his and only his. After that morning, waking up in her bed, he never wanted to wake up without her again. He wanted to sleep beside her, make her breakfast and talk about everything and nothing. He only left her when Meg called and told Christine she was on her way with snacks and an agenda to watch Netflix for the rest of the day and night. So, after he had made breakfast they went their separate ways. That left Erik with nothing but his thoughts which was never a good thing.

It was a stupid idea. He knew that it was. He told himself it was a terrible idea even as he walked across the patio and toward the back door, fiddling with the small box in his pocket. After Meg had arrived yesterday Erik had taken it upon himself to purchase Christine one more birthday present.

A stupid idea? It was a terrible idea.

He saw the navy BMW in the driveway, parked right behind Gustave's car. Gustave had returned the previous night from London on a red eye flight.

Erik berated himself about how terrible of an idea it was as he bought her gift, as he stood outside the guest house and watched the lights turn off and on as they moved from room to room.

They were in the dining room now, Christine, Gustave, Meg and her mother, and Christine's boy. Erik debated on waiting - he wondered for a moment whether Raoul would dare to say anything when he stepped into the room. On the other hand, if he did Erik would certainly have more standing to throw him under the bus.

He stood outside the back door, letting the dark conceal him from anyone inside as he pulled out his phone.

 _Come outside. -Erik_ he texted Christine, hoping she would have it on hand. His heart leapt when he saw the typing icon, then it stopped. He only looked up from the bright screen when he heard the slider door open. Christine stepped outside, looking around in the dark for him. Letting out a small whistle, her eyes snapped to where the sound came from.

She stepped out, closing the door behind her and walking toward him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets anxiously as she found him. Her curls free from an elastic and spilling down her back. She wore a light blue dress that Erik knew would compliment her eyes in the sunlight.

"Why are you out here?" Christine asked, looking out across the dark yard.

Erik's hand tightened on the cheap box in his pocket. "I wanted to talk to you."

"We could have done that inside," she pointed out, glancing back at the door. "Raoul is gonna wonder where I am."

"He certainly didn't the other night." Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could reach out and take them back. He shook his head when Christine glared at him. "Sorry," he gruffed. "That was out of line."

"Yes it was," she said, crossing her arms. "Listen, I don't know what we're doing or why we're out here. You've got me confused ten different ways, Erik, but if my dad comes looking for us I don't think it's going to be good. For you, me or whatever this thing we're doing is."

"I just wanted to give you your present in peace," he said, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot and taking half a step away from her to give her room.

"My present," she said softly. "Erik you didn't have to - you already did your best to fix my birthday and then the cupcake and the other night… you didn't have to get me anything."

Erik pulled the small ring box from his pocket, running his thumb along the faux-velvet box. "I didn't _have to_ do anything. I want to. Here."

She took the ring box from him with trembling fingers when he unceremoniously shoved the it toward her. She opened it and stared down speechless at it.

"It's just - it's an anxiety ring, Christine," he said, leaning over and pointing at the intricately carved sterling silver ring. "That part spins." He ran his finger over it to demonstrate. "So when you feel like a panic attack might be coming… sometimes it can be a good distraction. A good way to move all of that nervousness out."

She bit her lip and glanced up at him. "I don't understand you," she said softly. "But thank you. So much. That is incredibly thoughtful, Erik."

She slid the ring from the box and onto her right ring finger, glancing back over her shoulder and through the glass beside the door.

"I should really… they'll be cutting cake soon. You should come back with me."

He shook his head, taking one step back on the porch. "I can't, Christine. That was all I came for. Enjoy your birthday celebration."

He turned to retreat but the quiet, "Wait, Erik -" from her lips stopped him. He turned again to look at her.

She looked over her shoulder one last time then turned to face him and took two firm steps forward, pulling his head down to her.

She kissed him gently, and when he regained enough of himself to pull away she was already blushing. "Thank you..." she breathed, pressing her forehead to his, "I- well, the seniors don't have school tomorrow and I was wondering if we could- well, I don't know, we could hang out?" She asked, obviously embarrassed by the request.

"If you truly wish to, yes." Erik said softly, standing up straight and brushing off his shirt. He cleared his throat, "Goodnight, Christine," he said softly, retreating from her as quickly as he could.

"Goodnight, Erik."

* * *

It was fucked. They were fucked. He was fucked. This whole thing was absolutely fucked. He had no right buying her that. Yes, helping with her anxiety was fine. There as another alternative reasoning to the ring. She would never take it off, he knew that for sure and therefor something he bought for her would always be on her body. Raoul would see it, he knew that much. Hopefully Christine had the sense to lie about where it came from. He was fucked, branding her like she was his. Was she?

Did she think she was his? That kiss, while her boyfriend, the boy who was cold and abusive to her was inside most likely in conversation with her father was inside. Yet she still decided to kiss Erik. He was stealing her away from the boy bit by bit.

As soon as Erik returned to the guest house he sought out the bottle of whiskey he had bought earlier in the afternoon. Snatching it from the countertop he unscrewed the lid and took a swig directly from the bottle.

'Could hang out?' And like the idiot he was he agreed to spend the day with her. Where would Gustave be? Would Erik be smuggling her into his car to go spend the day hiding from her father? Going to spend the day with a teenage girl. What would they even do? He highly doubted any of the activities he thought were fun when he was eighteen would amuse her. At eighteen he was only focused on girls, alcohol and drugs… occasionally working when Gustave forced him to actually compose or master and audio.

What the hell would they do? What the hell did he have in common with an eighteen year old girl?

"I'm a fucking idiot," he groaned as he gulped down three more swigs of the whiskey and felt it burn the back of his throat. He needed to rethink this. He needed to rethink all of this shit.

By eleven he was piss drunk, the empty bottle of whiskey discarded somewhere in the living room along with his shoes. He didn't know when those disappeared. All he could do is stare at the text that Christine had sent him just moments before he took the last sip of whiskey.

_Are you awake?_

* * *

Erik never responded last night, or the following morning when Christine checked her phone upon waking up from a restless slumber. All night she had tossed and turned in her queen sized bed. She was always finding herself too hot or too cold, or even one side of the mattress was more lumpy than the other. Falling asleep was always an issue for her, ever since Gustave began to travel more and more, but the catch was that he was home tonight; he would be asleep on the other side of the house. These were the reasons she told herself she couldn't sleep but in reality, it was simply because Erik wasn't there.

In the past few days, she had gotten a better sleep than she had in years. The feeling of his warm, strong body pressed up against hers, his warm breath on her neck, and even his soft snores at times made it easy for her to fall asleep. It was pitiful really how she relied on Erik for sleep already. In his arms, she felt safe, warm, and she knew he would protect her from any harm. It was a different feeling from when she was with Raoul. She hardly felt protected with Raoul, sometimes she felt like Raoul was the one she needed to be protected from.

The sun was just beginning to shine through the white gossamer curtains, and Christine blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light surrounding her instead of the blinding light of her phone screen. A groan emerged from her throat while she flopped onto her mattress. Rubbing at her eyes and stretching her calves as she grunted and squeaked through her stretches. While opening her eyes more, the new sterling silver ring on her finger caught her attention as the sunlight caught it to create a shimmering effect on her pink walls. The anxiety ring, _Erik's ring_ that he had given her last night. The birthday dinner, it was nice, a bit awkward at times but nice nonetheless.

Then she remembered her father telling her he would be taking an extra early flight to Paris in the morning. Gustave was gone, Erik was here. Just she and Erik, two days of separation seemed like eternity to her. Pushing herself from the mattress and hopping onto the floor, Christine hurriedly walked out her bedroom in an oversized hoodie and shorts from bed.

As she walked outside, a part of her hoped Erik would allow her to just crawl into bed with him and fall back into a deep sleep in his embrace. All during dinner last night when Raoul had his arm around her, or held her hand Christine couldn't help herself from wishing it was Erik. She knew it was wrong, so wrong to cheat on Raoul but there was always this sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind that maybe she wasn't the only unfaithful one in their relationship.

The patio door was unlocked, and almost as soon as she pushed it open, she knew snuggling up next to him would not be the case. His shoes were halfway across the room from each other, his socks were left abandoned in the middle of the carpet and an empty bottle of whiskey lay tipped over on the coffee table.

She pushed the door closed quietly behind her and made her way through the small guest house, peeking through the doorway into his bedroom. He was asleep on his back, still in the same clothes he had been wearing the night before. His foot hung off the edge of the bed, his mask firmly in place.

Christine leaned against the door for a while, debating on the best way to wake him up. As much as she wanted to crawl into bed and wrap herself around him, she couldn't help but think of how she had startled him when she had taken his mask. That was certainly something that she didn't want to replay again.

It was with caution that she began to tiptoe across the room, biting her lip as she stared at him. "Erik?" she said softly, standing at the edge of the bed.

There wasn't much of a reaction. He grumbled something under his breath that she didn't quite catch and shifted on the mattress, scooting over almost as though he were making room for her.

After a long moment she took the invitation he seemed to give, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. He moved slowly, lifting the edge of the blankets without ever opening his eyes and she slid under them, turning and pressing her face to his chest.

He sighed, his arm wrapping around her. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes but she didn't mind so much. He was warm and relaxed and when his arm wrapped loosely over her waist there was a familiar feeling of comfort and safety that only seemed to come from him.

"Good morning," he mumbled. His voice was rough and gravelly but it was unmistakably his and she felt her own involuntary smile.

"Good morning, Erik," she whispered in return, pressing her forehead to his throat so that she could feel each rasping breath he took.

"Shh," he breathed, pulling her closer with one hand. His lips pressed into her hairline and he took a deep breath. And then, almost as though it had only just clicked, he blinked his eyes open. "Christine? Where is your father?"

"Over the Atlantic somewhere," she answered softly. "Long on his way to Europe."

He shifted, laying back against his pillows and looking up at her with a furrowed brow. "Already? He just got home."

She bit her lip and shrugged one shoulder. "Sometimes it seems like he can't stand being around," she said sadly, avoiding his eye. "He said it was the only break he'd be able to get for the next few weeks. Until graduation."

He looked at her carefully for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he offered eventually.

She shrugged again. "It isn't your fault," she said softly. And then, brightening just the slightest bit, she smiled. "Besides, now I can come here and snuggle up to you. It's not all so terrible."

Something in his eyes seemed to shift just the slightest bit and she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. He reached up, tucking a loose curl gently behind her ear. "Go get dressed, Christine," he murmured. "I'm going to take you to breakfast."

The brightness faded at the mention of going out to eat. Raoul had ruined that for her long ago with his controlling behavior and never letting her make her own choices, and criticizing when she did. She wasn't sure if Erik would be the same.

"... would it be okay if we just stayed here?" She asked, not meeting his eyes.

"Darling girl, if you haven't noticed I am a bit hungover and all I want is something greasy and horrible for me." He chuckled, closing his eyes again.

She shifted, looking up at him confused, "Why did you get drunk?" She asked furrowing her brows. She saw the muscles of his jaw clench a bit, but he remained silent until he pressed one more kiss to her hairline.

"Go get dressed, I'll meet you in the car." He mumbled. She sighed lightly, and scooted herself away from him, maneuvering herself out from under the warm covers of his bed and heading back towards the house.

A half hour later, Erik was sitting in the car still waiting for her. He glanced at his watch every few minutes as the moments dragged on. Each one seeming longer than the last as his stomach rumbled and churned. He remembered the night before, internally fighting himself over this relationship he had sparked with Christine. What was he even doing? She had a boyfriend, she was eighteen. It was wrong in so many ways but everytime she was near him it just felt so right.

His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the passenger car door, where Christine stood. She wore white shorts and a baby blue tank top with her hair neatly braided and makeup carefully done.

"Sorry that took so long," she said, climbing into the car and softly closing the door behind her.

"It's fine, you didn't have to get all dolled up for breakfast at a diner though." He chuckled, putting the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

She shrugged, "Yeah, well Raoul usually-" she stopped herself before she could say anymore as he looked at her.

"Christine?" Erik said softly, alternating his glance between her and the road.

"Nothing, it's not important." She answered, shaking her head with doubt. Erik wasn't an idiot, he knew what she was going to say. The boy no doubt expected her to look her best at all times when they were together and she was on his arm. It was trophy wife training at its best. Erik simply reached over and grasped her small hand in his, and squeezed it gently trying to comfort her in anyway he could.

"You look just as beautiful to me in sweatpants and a baggy hoodie as you do right now, Christine." He complimented and he noticed out of the corner of his eye the small smile that appeared on her face.

"Thank you, Erik." She said, squeezing his hand back. They drove in comfortable silence the rest of the way until Erik flicked on the indicator and took a right into the parking lot of an old Mom and Pop style diner that had been there since he had last been in California.

Christine let out a small giggle.

"What is it? Do you not like it here?" Erik asked, almost ready to drive another hour to another place just to make her happy.

She smiled gently, "No, Dad used to take me here all the time when I was little. We used to-" the smile faded, "we used to bring mom a muffin from here when she was in the hospital. She liked the blueberry ones, I think."

Erik looked around the parking lot, seeing there was nobody there he leaned over and kissed her temple. "I think we should have one then," he said softly, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. She nodded, and smile at him meekly. Her smile, that was something he noticed. It wasn't as follow and forced anymore.

Erik had to stuff his hands into his pockets to resist the temptation to hold her hand as they walked into the diner. Opening the door for her, the place was crowded as expected for this time of morning. Families, couples and friends gathered in the small diner. He wasn't sure what category they fit into at the moment. Erik glanced at a sign on the wall that said 'Sit where you'd like, someone will be with you shortly.'

"There's a booth open right over." Erik said, leaning down to Christine's ear. She nodded and made her way through the tables with Erik following closely behind. They sat across from each other, the wooden booth creaking as they sat. The location was in the far back corner, concealing Christine from the view of most patrons.

"You've been here before?" Christine asked as she watched Erik survey the interior and found him looking at the walls that were covered in pictures of customers and the owner's family. She saw his gaze trained on a particular one a few feet above her head. Following his eyes she found it. In the picture was her father, her mother, and Erik minus the mask. They all looked so young. Her father, his brown curly hair messed up and sticking out in different directions. He wore a Black Sabbath t-shirt and jeans with his arm around his future wife. Victoria was in a floral sundress, and her signature flower in her blonde hair. Erik… oh Erik. He looked so young, he must've only been in his early twenties she assumed. His black hair was short and mussed, and he had a bit of stubble and devilish smirk on his face.

"Hi, my names Bailey and I'll be taking care of you. How are you two today?" Both of their attention was grabbed by the blonde waitress that stood in front of their table and setting down menus. Christine didn't fail to notice the way Erik looked the waitress up and down. Even Christine had to admit she was very pretty, blonde hair in a french braid, tanned skin, a pretty smile, and hourglass figure. Who was Christine kidding, she was gorgeous.

"Good, thanks." Christine said a bit loudly, forcing a smile. The waitress didn't even acknowledge her, instead she just looked at Erik. She noticed the way her gaze went immediately to the mask, then his face, finally drifting down his torso and right arm that was covered in tattoos.

"What can I get you to drink, sir?" She asked brightly, pulling out her serverbook and a pen.

"Just a black coffee will be fine," he said flatly staring at Christine oddly.

"Alrighty, and for you?" She asked looking at Christine impatiently, almost rudely.

"Orange juice, please." Christine answered. The waitress nodded and turned on her heel walked toward the kitchen. Christine looked back at Erik, half expecting to see Erik watching Bailey as she walked away but instead he was staring right into Christine's eyes.

"What?" Christine asked, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as he narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. He only chuckled a bit and raised his menu, looking over the options. Christine did the same, occasionally stealing glances at him.

"Oh, Christine Daae! How funny seeing you here!" Christine cringed at the voice of Carly only a few feet away and making her way over to them. Carly's curled red hair pulled over one shoulder, covering the strap of a bikini top that was hidden under a see-through cover up. "

"Carly, wonderful to see you…" Christine groaned, staring back at her menu and hoping Carly would just walk away. She didn't.

"Isn't it? I was just on my way to Raoul's for the day actually. He just had the pool retiled and invited me over- oh how rude of me. He didn't invite you, did he?" Carly said mockingly.

"No, he didn't but I have plans anyways." Christine said, glancing at Erik. Carly followed her gaze and she was her lips part slightly as she looked at Erik seeing the intimidating man sitting across the table from Chrisitne. Carly's smile returned and she extended a hand to Erik.

"Carly Guidicelli," she said and Erik only looked at her manicured hand with a raised brow.

"Erik." He stated flatly, never taking her hand.

Carly played it off only showing her pride damaged a tiny bit by brushing her fiery red hair behind her ear. "Christine and I go to school together. We've been friends for years, isn't that right Chrissy?" Carly lied.

"Have we?" Christine answered, cocking her head a bit.

"You're so funny, Christine. That's what I love about you." Carly laughed until her gaze settled on Christine's menu. "Oh, Chrissy your menu is facing the wrong way. The salads are all on the back, " Carly said, knowing exactly where to hit on with Christine's weak points. She had certainly struck one with the panicked look that took over Christine's face. "Raoul was telling me about how you've gained a little bit recently-"

"That's enough." Both girls eyes landed on Erik who had practically just growled at Carly.

"Excuse me?" Carly gasped, clearly surprised that anyone would speak to her that way. It was the same expression Raoul wore that night of the party when Erik told him to get out.

"I said, that is quite enough. Why don't you run along to De Chagny's house and leave us to our breakfast, hm?" Erik said lowly, watching the confidence and snark fade from Carly's face. She didn't even respond, she simply turned on her heel and walked away with a huff. Erik smirked with self gratification, until he looked at Christine. He could see her lip quivering slightly,

"Christine?" He said softly, and she shook her head as if to tell him she was fine. Erik didn't buy it for a second. He sighed heavily and shifted out of the booth, and Chrisitne watched him with fearful eyes until he walked towards her side of the booth and scooted in next to her with his arm around her shoulder.

She looked shocked by this advancement, fearing someone she knew could walk in at any moment. "Erik-"

"What are you getting for breakfast Christine?" He asked gently, nodding his head at the side of the menu that didn't have the salads as an option.

"... an egg maybe."

Erik shook his head, "That isn't enough food, Christine. You need to eat and actual meal."

She sighed, "I'm not that hungry-" and as if on cue, her stomach rumbled loud enough for Erik to hear. He knew for sure she could eat a lot, but he never until now really thought about her anxiety of eating around others. Two nights ago when he cooked for them she picked at the meal and claimed she was full rather soon; but when he checked the fridge the next day there was a missing leftovers container.

Turning his head to look into her still glassy eyes, he said "Christine, I am not Raoul. I will not shame you for eating like a normal human being. I will never, I want you to be healthy. I don't care if that means skinny or not, you are beautiful not matter what. Do you understand?" Erik asked, stroking his thumb over her exposed shoulder. She nodded timidly, and turned her attention to the menu.

"... Banana pancakes look good." She practically whispered.

"Alright. Get those, and a few sides if you would like." He suggested, looking over options for himself. He was only interrupted when the waitress came with their drinks.

"Alright, Black coffee and an orange juice-" she looked up from the tray at the pair now on the same side of the booth, his arm pulling Christine close. The smile faded for a moment, until as if a switch flipped the fake smile returned. "What can I get you two for breakfast?" She asked, a bitterness in her voice.

"She will have the banana pancakes, and I'll have a Italian omelette with all sides included." He said handing her back the menus without even giving her a glance. She took the menus with a bit or force and Erik internally smirked, as he pulled Christine closer to his side.

"Of course, I'll put that right in." As she walked away, Christine giggled.

"I think she may spit in your food," she said, rising her orange juice to her lips.

"Eh, wouldn't be the first time a waitress has most likely done that to me." He huffed, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I don't know how you drink that stuff black." She said looking at him curiously.

"I started drinking black coffee with my father when I was ten, he used to tell me it builds character. There was also a point in time when I was singing a lot and diary isn't good-"

"You sing too? Like for real? I know you hummed a little bit the other night and it was lovely but like, you sing for real?" She asked, her voice laced in excitement at this new information.

He shrugged. "A bit."

"Well, now I want to hear you sing. When we get back home can we?" She pleaded.

He scoffed, "I don't know-"

"Please?" She begged drawing out the 'e' like a small child.

He sighed and shook his head, "I'll make you a deal, I'll sing for you if you sing for me." He said, and could see the uncertainty in her eyes. "I heard you the second night I was here, you have a beautiful voice Christine." He encouraged, wanting to hear more of her. He had been snooping around the house and found Gustave's music room with a grand _Fazioli_ piano that was just begging to be used. Erik intended to do so.

"What's your range?" Christine asked before taking another sip of her orange juice.

"High baritone into low tenor. And you are a soprano, coloratura mezzo right now, but lyric mezzo is possible." He said, looking at her closely. He wasn't lying. She had great potential, he just wasn't sure if she realized it.

"Really? I had a teacher who said I would only ever be coloratura mezzo, but you think I could?" She asked brightly and he nodded.

"You just need the right coaching-"

"Would you teach me?" She interrupted and Erik hesitated.

He hadn't ever had a student, or taught for that matter. The only instruction he had really ever given was to Luciana. The waif of a girl that became his ward in Mexico.

Luciana had a small voice, but pretty nonetheless. Erik would catch her at odds times around the house when she was singing to herself when she thought nobody was listening. The first few times she found him listening she had turned bright red and apologized profusely. The first few weeks she stayed with him were awkward and embarrassing as they got to know each other. Eventually, she became very attached to him, he always told himself it was only because he was the only person she was ever around.

As they grew closer, he allowed little tips and critiques to slip out every once in a while when she sang. At first she was embarrassed but then she began to listen. It was habit for Erik, he had honestly missed his music while in Mexico. There was no time for it very often, the only thing he had to compose was his violin.

In prison there was a bit more opportunity. Once or twice a week he was given access to a keyboard, the only requirement was that he was well behaved. That was the real bitch at first, fights became a normality for Erik those first few months until his lawyer had encouraged good behavior if he wanted an early release and privileges. He obeyed.

"Erik?" Christine said snapping him out of his trance.

"I will be honest, I have never actually taught." He saw the slight disappointment in her face until he held up a finger, "But, if you would like, I can give it a try." He said. A little squeal of excitement came out of Christine causing Erik to chuckle, "I thought you didn't want to study music?" He asked, raising a brow. Her expression faltered.

"How did you know that?" she asked, leaning away from him a bit.

He shrugged again, "Intuition and thin walls. I heard you and your father chatting about it the other night when he was home and I came inside to use the washing machine." He sighed.

"No. I have no idea what I want to do, and it's really scary." She muttered, returning to her position of leaning against his torso. "I want to see the world a bit more, I mean, I've never left California."

Erik hummed deep in his chest, "You'll figure it out. And a word of advice, just because it would make your father happy for you to study music, doesn't mean you have to. Make this choice for you, it's your future, not his." Erik muttered, his grip around the coffee mug tightening a bit. He couldn't understand this motive Gustave had for forcing music studies down his daughter's throat.

"I just don't want to disappoint him, or be selfish-"

"Selfish? Sweetheart, it's your life. Be selfish. Do what you want, take what you want in life." He realized the name he had just called her, and saw the slight blush on her face. "All I'm saying is do something for you, not him," he muttered.

Soon their food was brought out by someone other than their waitress, and Christine's eyes widened at the amount of food set in front of Erik. "Can you really eat all that?" she asked.

He laughed gently. "Most likely; I'm starving," he admitted looking at the omelette, hash browns, sausage, and bacon set in front of him.

"Ok, I have to ask, if you eat like this, and don't say you don't I've seen the junk food you keep in the guest house, how are you so skinny?" She huffed out in a laugh.

"Honestly, I have no idea. I've been able to do this since I was a kid. Your mother was so confused by it and your father hated it. He would get fat and I wouldn't as he got older. I'm pretty sure I ate a whole pizza and drank a twelve pack of beers one night and your mother was appalled." He laughed, taking his silverware and cutting into his eggs. After taking a bite he noticed how Christine was simply just looking at her pancakes.

"Christine, nobody is watching you, eat what you can." He coaxed. Controlling, borderline rapist, and now being the reason an eating disorder was being developed all because of that boyfriend of hers. Erik wanted to do nothing more than wrap his hands around that boyfriend of hers throat. Taking another bite of his omelette he watched Christine as she cut into her pancakes, cutting up a small bite. His hurt his heart to watch. He should've seen this the first night they ate a meal together, he wished he had.

It was stupid, really, that's what Christine kept telling herself as she chewed for far too long on a tiny bite of pancake. She wasn't with Raoul, she was with Erik. Erik who had cooked dinner and breakfast for her a few times and never watched her with judging eyes as Raoul did. This was different, whatever this was. Erik was different.

One, two, three, four, five more bites. Each time she chewed the time it took became shorter. She looked over at Eriks plate, half of his omelette was already gone and three strips of bacon were missing. He was right, the man could eat. Another bite, and when Eriks thumb stroked her shoulder, she remembered that time when she wasn't terrified to eat in front of people. When she wasn't scared of Raoul calling her fat and telling her that she should stop eating so much. Things were changing, they would change for better she decided. One step at a time.

* * *

They both returned home with full stomachs and the second they entered the front door Christine took Erik's hand in hers and lead him to the music room.

"Hold on, let me go have a smoke first." He chuckled, pulling away from her.

"Ugh, fine." She fake pouted. Erik laughed and shook his head, walking back towards her and kissing the top of her head.

"I'll be there in a few minutes, go put on something comfortable if you want. I don't plan on leaving the house anymore today." He said kissing her head one more time before walking towards the back door.

Just like he promised, Erik met Christine in the music room where she sat curled up on the chaise that Gustave kept in the far corner. The walls were sound proofed, with high ceilings. Christine wore black sweatpants and a pink zip up hoodie. Just like he had said earlier, she looked just as beautiful like this as she did all done up.

"What?" She asked, finding his eyes on her.

He shook his head, "Nothing…" He said lowly, looking away from her to the piano, "When was the last time your father played this?" He said walking towards the grand piano that sat in the center of the room.

"I really don't remember. He really only plays the violin nowadays-"

"He's a master violinist, it's valid. A piano such as this should not go to waste though." Erik said pulling out the stool and sitting down while running his fingers across the dusty keys. It had been too long since he got his hands on an instrument such as this. Back in Mexico, Jefe had a piano like this in his home. Jefe certainly didn't play but he sure as hell would hire people to entertain him.

Sitting down at the piano Erik went over a few scales, refreshing his memory after all this time. It wasn't too hard to recall all those nights he spent bent over a piano when he was younger. His father had sent him for lessons starting at age eight when Erik had first started to show extreme interest in music. It started with piano, then a guitar, and eventually whatever he could get his hands on.

Stopping his fingers from flying over the keys during his warm up he glanced over at Christine whose lips were parted with interest at his skill. "I believe after our mini music history lesson the night of the party, you will know this song." He said. The song he had chosen was cheesy, it was cliche, it was a classic, it was his speciality when he was younger.

" _Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little_  
Can barely stand on my feet  
Take a look in the mirror and cry 

_Lord what you're doing to me_

_I have spent all my years in believing you_  
But I just can't get no relief, Lord!  
Somebody ooh somebody 

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

Christine was in awe. She didn't know what to expect, his voice was smooth as silk but there was a low rasp to it at the same time. It was powerful to say the least but there was a gentleness when he needed there to be. He was trained, that was obvious. The way his fingers effortlessly flowed across the keys, never faltering.

_I work hard every day of my life_  
I work till I ache in my bones  
At the end  
I take home my hard earned pay all on my own  
I get down on my knees 

_And I start to pray_  
Till the tears run down from my eyes  
Lord somebody, ooh somebody  
can anybody find me somebody to love? 

It had been a long time since he sang like that for anyone, or even for himself for that matter. It felt like he was back at Mama's in the French Quarter performing on bustling Friday nights for the customers. People used to stand outside to listen, lining up at the door for a chance to get in and hear the music. Girls used to wait till after he was on a break from his playing and drank a beer at the bar to swarm him. They would bite at the chance to have him take one of them up to the apartment for the night. Erik could never help but smile when he remembered those summers on Royal Street in the heart of New Orleans. Nights with laughs, music, drinks and pretty girls. Those were the days, but at the same time the girl sitting a few feet away from was the only one on his mind recently.

As soon as he stopped playing applause came from a pair of hands in the room, "Wow, you're- wow…" she said shaking her head, her smile brighter than he had ever seen it.

He only huffed out a laugh, "Your turn." And she stood, approaching the piano. Erik still sat on the bench, watching as she cleared her throat, and when she began to sing a song he wasn't all familiar with he closed his eyes and let himself drift. It wasn't pop, something from musical theater, but he couldn't name the show. When she finished the little bit he kept his eyes closed, but felt the warm of her body approach him. Just as he opened his eyes a quick peck was placed on his lips.

"Will you play more for me?" She asked softly, straddling the bench and resting her head against his shoulder.

"Only if you will sing for me a bit more…" and she did, and he played for her. They spent the rest of the day and most of the evening in the music room, only stopping for smoke breaks for Erik, and food for the both of them. Around eleven at night, when Christine started to yawn, Erik noticed how late it had become.

"You should go to bed, you have school in the morning. It's late." He said, looking down at her as she nuzzled against his chest while they sat on the piano bench.

"I'm not tired," she said, right before a yawn exposed the truth.

"Come on, you need your rest Christine." He scolded gently.

"Will you stay with me?" She asked meekly, burrowing her head under his neck so she didn't have to see his expression if he denied her.

"Of course, only if you want me to, that is." He answered gently, taking his hand off the keys of the piano and brushing her rosy cheek gently with his knuckles.

"I do want you to, you're really warm at night." She sighed, maneuvering her head to look up at him.

"Then I will stay with you, Christine." And just like he said he would, ten minutes later after her had gone and changed sweatpants and a t-shirt he climbed into her bed. She cuddled herself up next to him, her head laying right over her heart as he hummed her to sleep.

As he watched the way her face relaxed and her brows were no longer furrowed he realized just how much she reminded him of Luciana in certain ways. The aura of innocence they both had, and the sense of naiveness. Of course, the situation with Christine was very different for it was willing and wanted on both ends, where as himself and Luciana were given no choice in the matter of their relationship.

Almost fifteen years ago in Mexico when Erik had confronted Jefe about the placement of her in his home, telling him she was a child Jefe only smirked at him.

"She is young, train her to be what you want in a _puta_." Jefe had said

"She's only fourteen, a little girl." Erik argued.

"Fine, then I can make her disappear as easily as I made her appear. I'll send her as a gift to some of the boy's on guard on the wall for fun-"

"No!" Erik interfered, knowing what horrible things those men would do to her. Rape her over and over again, until they finally killed her. Erik couldn't live with himself if he let that happen to a girl her age, she wasn't given a choice. She was most likely either sold or traded. "I will keep her, you are right. I will train her to my wants."

"See that you do. Pussy that young should be cherished, _mi ángel de la muerte_. I knew you were kidding, obviously a man with as much blood on his hands as you would have no issue fucking the little _puta_."

Erik had no intention of laying a hand on little Luciana in that manner ever. His stomach churned as he walked out of Jefe's home back to his villa.

* * *

**Fifteen years ago**

**Mexico, Los Zetas Territory**

Luciana was a sweet girl, he found this as he got to know her a bit more as time went on. Jefe believed Erik's lies saying he was indeed _enjoying his gift._ In reality, Erik was enjoying her in a completely different way. She was kind and compassionate, always doing her best to remain polite and obedient whenever he asked anything of her which wasn't all too often.

Erik did his best to maintain the innocence that she still had. While she was forced to sleep in his bed he was careful to be sure that all contact remained appropriate. Even on the warmest of nights he slept in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. She was always in full length pajamas. He had to go out and buy her some suitable clothing after he had decided she would in fact be staying with him. He would not allow her to roam around the house in the skimpy outfit she arrived in.

However, at times such arrangements were not maintainable.

He became a light sleeper with her at his side. Every creak woke him; if the wind picked up he was wide awake, listening carefully for any possible danger. He had never been particularly paranoid for himself - in his opinion there wasn't much worth saving when it came to himself. It was the sweet little girl that slept tucked against his chest that kept him on alert. It was the terrible stories that he heard, the horrible things he had witnessed, the way she had found her way into his bed in the first place that kept him up at night. There were terrible images in his head; her body broken and battered, some old man on top of her. The images haunted him, knowing what horrible things were out there lurking around the corner for a girl like her. It was no place for her. _She_ was worth protecting, perhaps the only thing that he had that was.

The first time he heard the click of the lock and his front door open he panicked. Only one person had such easy access to his home and that was Jefe.

Jefe, who had sent Luciana to him in the first place. Jefe, who looked at her and saw her as nothing more than a thing, an object, an unfortunate but necessary attachment to what lay nestled between her thighs. That wouldn't be so bad in and of itself if he didn't expect Erik to look at her in that same lecherous way.

"Luciana, sweetheart, wake up," he cooed quietly. Her brow furrowed but she didn't stir and he sighed, catching the hem of her shirt. "Chiquita, you need to wake up."

He heard footsteps coming up the hallway and he gave a hard tug, yanking her shirt over her head and tossing it to the floor. That was enough to wake her up - her eyes shot open. "Erik -"

"Hush," he whispered. He shed his own shirt, tossing it toward hers and reaching for the elastic band of her pajama pants. "You have to trust me, Lu. Do you?"

Her jaw clenched as he stripped her pants away but she nodded anyway, laying silent and still as he kicked off his own sweatpants.

His boxer briefs and her thin cotton panties were the only things that separated them as he rolled on top of her, hearing the footsteps drawing nearer in the hallway. "I'm sorry, chiquita," he whispered, looking down into her nervous eyes. "You know - you know that I would do anything to keep you safe, yes?" She nodded meekly. "I'm going to tell you to moan, sweetheart. I know that this is weird and embarrassing and uncomfortable and confusing but I need you to do it."

"Okay," she answered softly, nodding weakly at his instruction.

He used his knees to lift himself off of her, leaving just the slightest amount of space between their bodies as he forced himself to groan, feeling every bit as nauseous as he had the very first night he found her in his bed.

The moan that she gave was actually halfway convincing and Erik nearly choked, hearing the turn of the knob of his bedroom door. He began to move, kneeling just over her, desperate to keep space between them and still allow the scene to look somewhat believable from the doorway.

He heard the door swing open and did his best not to look over his shoulder. Instead he stared down into Luciana's frightened eyes as he rolled his hips in that space just above her.

While Erik couldn't turn to look Luciana certainly could and he knew that he was right about who stood in the doorway just from the way her eyes widened. She reached up, her little arms wrapped around the back of his neck and he leaned down just the slightest bit, letting her turn her face against his throat.

"Finally making use of my gift, eh?" Jefe asked gruffly from the doorway. "I was beginning to worry that I would have to take her back - a terrible thing for a whore to be unappreciated."

Luciana's breath was warm and fast against his throat and for a brief moment he was grateful for the anxious way she reacted to Jefe - it certainly made the whole thing more believable. "Gifts are best enjoyed in peace, Jefe," he said, the raspiness in his voice coming naturally.

"Twelve new men and a full shipment of stone came in today," Jefe said conversationally. Erik could feel Jefe's eyes on the back of his head. "Twelve-thirty and no later - I need work from you today. Do not wear yourself out, mi amigo."

"Twelve-thirty," Erik repeated, grateful for Luciana's silence beneath him. "It's understood."

There was a long moment of silence and Erik continued with his movement, praying that Jefe would just leave. Luciana whimpered beneath him and, eventually, his prayers were met. Jefe pulled the bedroom door closed behind him and Erik hovered over Luciana with bated breath, not daring to move until he heard the slam of the front door.

As soon as Erik was sure Jefe was gone he climbed off of her and leaned over the edge of the bed, snagging her shirt and holding it out to her. "I am so sorry, chiquita," he said thickly. She snatched her shirt silently from his hand and shimmied it on, attempting to cover herself with the sheets as she did. "I never want to -"

"I know what I am," Luciana whispered. " _No te disculpes. Soy una puta_."

"No, chiquita," he said softly, holding himself up on his elbow as he looked at her. "You are not, sweetheart. I don't ever want to hear you call yourself that again. You are more than the things you have been made to do, Luciana."

Her little brows knitted together in confusion and she stared up at the ceiling, avoiding Erik's eyes. "I have not…"

Erik's breath caught. He lay leaving a few inches of space between them, wanting to allow her as much comfort as he could manage. "You are a virgin," he said softly.

Her cheeks flushed bright red but she gave half a nod. "You were meant to… to be my first."

He stared at her silently for a few long moments, watching the way she stared bravely and fully at the ceiling. She was so young, so afraid, and somehow she still found a streak of bravery. Erik sighed, letting his head fall to his pillow. "I'm going to get you out of here, Luciana," he said softly, not quite sure where the promise was coming from but knowing that he meant it with every fiber of his being. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe. Somewhere that you can be happy."

Now all these years later, Erik only wished he was able to fulfill the promises he made to her.


	11. Help

Christine woke wrapped in Erik's arms. Her back was pressed up against his chest, her bare leg in between his. She was warm and secure with him up against her. Erik's soft snores were the only sound in the room until her phone's alarm began to chime. She felt Erik shift and groan softly as he pulled her closer. Reaching for the phone, she slid her finger over the screen and silenced the alarm. With a sigh she rolled over, facing Erik.

"Good morning," she said softly, leaning up and kissing his chin. His lips twitched into a smile as he opened his eyes,

"Morning," he replied, his voice raspy with sleep.

Christine laid her head back down on his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft on her cheeks as she listened to his heartbeat. "What time does school start?" he said softly, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through her wild curls.

"Seven-thirty; it's six-thirty now," she said with a yawn, nuzzling her head against him.

He hummed deep in his chest, "Not that I would mind just laying here with you all day, but you should get up and get dressed. I'll drive you," he offered, maneuvering himself to sit up against her headboard, leaving her no choice but to do the same.

"Okay," she yawned, stretching her arms high over her head.

As she slid out of bed, he watched her walk to the dresser and begin picking through clothes in her walk in closet. Erik wanted nothing more than to just lay back down and fall fast asleep, but instead he got out of bed.

"I'll be downstairs when you're ready," he said, walking toward the door and letting her dress in peace.

While he stood in the kitchen waiting for her, Erik found himself staring off into space, in deep thought. Yesterday they had spent the day together, their afternoon and evening full of music and laughter. Erik couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so much in one day.

"Ready," Christine said standing in the hallway of the stairwell.

Erik looked at her in white jeans and a flower patterned V-neck and found himself smiling at the view in front of him.

"What?" She asked as he kept looking at her silently. "Is there something on my pants?" She twirled herself around, trying to see the back of her jeans.

"No, I was just admiring," he said, taking his car keys off the counter and reaching for her hand as he led them to the front door.

"Erik, wait," Christine said and he turned only to be surprised by her pulling him down to her height and the press of her lips to his for a brief moment before she pulled away with a sigh. "That should get me through today," she said softly, watching him as his lips twisted into a smile.

"Eh, I think I may need another to last me till you get home," Erik said, tanging his fingers into her hair and bringing her lips to his once more.

Christine was always surprised about how gentle he could be with his kisses, how tender he could be with her at all times. In all honesty, he was very domineering. Erik easily stood a foot taller than her, then with his broad shoulders making him twice her size. Then add all the tattoos, the black hair, and his intense eyes. He intimidated the hell out of her, but at the same time it was what drew her to him like a moth to flame. She often wondered what he even saw in her.

As soon as he pulled away, he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb which made her shiver. "I don't want to make you late, Christine," he said, standing to his full height.

"Yeah, we should go." She said with reluctance.

When they stepped out the door, Erik was greeted with an unpleasant sight on the driver's side of his car. The black paint scratched away, and in big writing the word "PEDO" was keyed into the driver's side door.

"Oh my god…" Christine gasped, reaching to grab Erik's hand, but he was already in front of her walking to assess the damage on the vehicle. She expected him to be furious, to yell and curse, but he only huffed out a laugh while shaking his head and circling the car as he saw all four of his tires slashed.

"Are all of them slashed?" she asked, bending down to look at the clean cuts in the rubber.

"All four. Rookie mistake. If it was three I would have to pay out of pocket, but insurance will take care of it. " He shrugged, apparently more annoyed than upset.

"Are you angry?" she asked, trying to if see his jaw clenched or his hands were made into fists. Neither happened.

"It's not the first time I've had my car fucked with, this is nothing compared to some of the shit that's been done to me before, sweetheart," he groaned, thinking about the time in Mexico this girl Camila who he was dating at the time smashed out all his windows and lights, as well as slashing his tires and the leather upholstery on the inside. The best part was the phrase, 'cheating bastard' that was spray painted onto the hood of the car.

Christine shook her head, "Who did this-"

He scoffed. "Only one person comes to mind."

Christine's brows furrowed, "Nobody knows-"

"You swear you haven't told anybody, Christine?" he asked roughly and Christine shook her head. "Do you understand the consequences of whatever we have going on if your father were to find out, correct?"

"I know, I know. Nobody knows, not even Meg. It's only been a few days, Erik. I promise I haven't told anyone," Christine said, grabbing his hand and looking at him with pleading eyes. "I don't even know how anyone would even know we were spending time together-" she stopped, thinking back to Carly's intrusion on their pleasant breakfast yesterday morning. "I think I know who did it…" she said softly, turning bright red at the embarrassment of her boyfriend's outburst.

"As do I."

"I'll talk to him about it today-"

Erik shook his head. "You will do no such thing, Christine."

"Erik, maybe he will listen to me-"

Erik looked down at her sternly, placing his finger under her chin so she looked up at him. "No, Christine. That is final. You are going to pretend you know nothing of this, and if he asks you about it you will deny any knowledge of the damage. Understood?" he asked lowly, knowing that this would possibly confirm the boy's suspicions if Christine were to defend him.

"Where are you father's keys to the Jeep?" Erik asked, nodding toward the closed garage door.

"I'll go grab them, they're on the hook by the door," she said placing her backpack on the pavement of the driveway.

"Back it out of the garage. I need to find a garage and get this fixed today if possible," he said pulling out his phone. When Christine stood there biting her lip nervously he turned his attention back to her. "Christine?"

"I- well I can't, 'cause I don't have my license-"

"You're eighteen years old and don't have your license?" he asked incredulously.

"No- Dad says I don't really need it. Raoul and Meg usually take me wherever I need to go," she said, looking down at her feet like a scolded child.

"What the fuck, Gustave…" Erik mumbled, his anger toward her father growing. Christine was not given the tools to be a functioning adult in society. She couldn't drive, cook, and she had no job. Gustave was raising her in a bubble.

—

As they drove in Gustave's practically unused Jeep, Christine happily sipped on the iced coffee he bought her on the way, even though she repeatedly told him he didn't have to. Truth be told, he wanted to buy her everything she wanted and needed. That night when she was in a panic, and she told him 'I'm needy and immature' for some reason, he realized it was her innocence that was attractive to him, that young naive aura around her. She was everything he wasn't, she was light and he was dark. She was pink and he was black. They were complete and total opposites, yet still were drawn to on another.

"Erik, can you drop me off a block or two away from the school?" she asked as he stopped at a red light. He glanced over at her, but before he could answer the question, he noticed a police car roll up in the other lane from the corner of his eye and his body stiffened and he straightened his posture.

His thoughts drifted to the day of the raid in Mexico, the day police surrounded him as he was cuffed and shoved to the ground.

* * *

**Mexico Eight Years Ago**

"Put your fucking back into it!" Erik roared, saliva spitting from his mouth into the dust- filled air. Twelve hours now he had been acting the part of a slave driver as his workers mined through the narrow passageways of the tunnels.

"You want your freedom? You want to be in America? You won't see fucking Lady Liberty unless you hurry the fuck up!" Erik taunted the exhausted workers caked in dirt and soaked in sweat.

Erik only stopped shouting when he felt the warm trickle of blood come from his nose. "Fuck," he muttered, turning on his heel and walking back to the office that had been dug out into the tunnels for him where blueprints, his drinks, and drugs were kept. He wasn't fond of sitting in the office, not when every time he looked at the chair behind his desk all he could see was Luciana sitting there. Luciana with her dark brown eyes that showed nothing but love and adoration for him. Those eyes that he could never see again...

Erik pulled the black bandannas from his dress pants pocket and whipped the blood away from his upper lip and nose. Reaching into his left pocket he found the small vial filled with cocaine. Unscrewing the lid and holding up the small wand to his nostril he gave a hard sniff letting the drug enter his body like he had done many times a day for years now. A lung-wrenching cough ripped through his chest, and he decided the best thing to do then was to drink it away with the silver flask of whiskey in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He shoved the vile of cocaine in his pants pocket and started to unscrew the flask when he was interrupted.

"Sir, we have a problem," his journeyman said from the entryway. He glanced at the man through the dim lighting from the caged lights hanging in the tunnels. The journeyman who he could never remember the name of with his dust covered clothing and sweat stained shirt as Erik brough the flash to his dry lips. Erik didn't look much better at this point, his black jeans, v neck, and jacket also covered in dust and sweat from her unbearable heat.

Erik took a swig from the flask and felt the amber liquor burn his throat as he felt his adrenaline begin to surge from the cocaine. "Then deal with it. If one of them has passed out, hit him until he wakes up or shoot him in the head-"

"No sir, not that. The cameras picked up on American intrusion, the northern tunnel . They are coming, they are coming for you."

The flask slipped out of Erik's hand, falling onto the dirt floor and spilling the expensive liquor onto the ground. There would be no time to run, no time to escape.

They were coming for him.

"Sir?"

Erik held up his hand to silence the other man. "Get everyone into the storage rooms and barricade the doors!" he seethed, turning and looking at the blueprints. "Rig the traps in the west hall to blow upon entrance-"

"There isn't enough time!"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me!" Erik raged, turning and slamming his fist onto the wooden desk. "Spit up the groups and get into hiding. I will rig the trip wires-" he was interrupted by an explosion in the distance and screams and footsteps. The officials were in the tunnels.

"Get yourself into hiding, let the rest of them fend for themselves-"

"They have families-"

"Run, you ignorant shit! Blow the northern tunnel on top of their fucking heads and suffocate them to death!" he roared, and Juan shook his head in disbelief at the coldness of his superior before he took off toward the east halls. Erik went into motion, grabbing a box of matches and striking one with shaking hands. He held the flame up to the prints and watched the paper burn to ash. If the Americans found the plans and maps, they would find the drugs and guns that were stored in the tunnels.

The fire spread, taking down years of Erik's hard work in its path. The small dug out space began to fill with smoke. The only this he grabbed off his desk was his wallet that contained a pictures of his father, Luciana, Gustave and Victoria. Erik took off running down the northern hall praying to God that he would have time to blow the entrance way and trap the raid.

As he ran, all he could hear in his mind was his father saying, 'I'll see you soon, son.' He could hear the soft laughter of Luciana whenever he made her giggle and smile with his jokes and stories. And Victoria singing softly in his ears. A song she sang by his beside in the hospital while he was in recovery that always soothed him, if only for a moment.

His thoughts were violently interrupted with an explosion of rock to his left that sent him flying into the support beam on the opposite wall.

Shards of rock sliced through his exposed flesh, while the impact punched the air from his lungs. He writhed, attempting to suck in a burning breath that was more dust than air. It barely registered that his mask had flown off in the process as he turned from his back onto his side.

The Americans had found him. _It was a shame the explosion hadn't killed him_ , he cynically thought.

Through the ringing in his ears from the explosion he heard someone shout, "Over here! There's a body!" Footsteps thudded against the ground and Erik attempted to stand. He had barely sat upright when a steel-toed boot cracked hard against his ribs.. "Stay down!" someone ordered. "Hands behind your head!"

Erik only could scream the one thing that may free him. Lying and pathetically pleading would be the only way out of this he decided. "I'm American! I was taken hostage. Please! Dear God, spare me!" he yelled, lying for his life. He tried to roll himself in the dirt like the insect he was. It was bullshit, complete and utter bullshit, but what did he have to lose?

"Grab him! Get him out of here-" and with that another explosion went off in the distance and rattled the earth. The western tunnel had blown. "Get out! This whole place is gonna blow!" the man standing over Erik yelled. The officer standing over Erik yanked him to his feet and pushed him ahead. He recognized the uniform with SWAT written in bright yellow ink on the front, the other man with DEA on his clothing. Erik could hardly move with the pain shooting through his torso from the kick to the ribs and impact from the explosion.

The moment they were out off the tunnels and blinded by the sun, Erik was shoved to the dirt. He felt a knee dig into the middle of his spine while his arms were wrenched behind his back and cuffs tightened around his wrists.

"Erik Jameson Deveraux are under arrest and being taken into United States Custody you will be tried in a U.S. Court of Law. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law."

* * *

"Erik?" Erik it's a green light, go!"

Erik glanced at Christine's worried face before he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal as the police officer looked at him.

He was a felon. If he ever got pulled over and his car was searched, he was fucked for one reason alone: the glock he kept in his glove compartment. He had purchased it the day after he was released from prison. The seller was a contact of a fellow inmate who Erik tolerated. It was the very gun he shot into the air the night of Christine's party. It was too risky to keep in on his body at all times, so the car would have to do.

"Are you okay?" she asked, reaching over and taking his now clammy hand in hers.

He cleared his throat. "I'm- I'm fine, Christine," he answered, pulling his hand out of hers and running his fingers through his hair.

"You looked like you saw a ghost or something."

In a way, she was right. Ghosts seemed to follow Erik everywhere. Just mere glimpses of things that could trigger both painful and happy memories.

"No, I'm just really tired. That's all," he answered.

"I could've had Raoul get me-"

"No, I really don't mind Christine," Erik interrupted, feeling **his** stomach twist with the thought of what the boy would have said to her when they were alone in the car after Carly had seen Christine and Erik out the previous morning.

She shrugged. "I just don't want to be a burden-"

"You're not," he said bluntly, glancing at her as the car came to a halt at a stop sign. "At all."

"If you say so," she sighed and crosses her arms over her chest. They drove in silence, Erik trying to calm his racing heart as he tried to push memories of Mexico out of his mind while Christine wondered when she would ever get to know the man she was falling for.

"You can drop me here," Christine informed him softly as the car rolled to a stop. "Thanks-"

"Promise me you will not say a word about the damage on my car. It will be fixed by the time you are home from school, like it never happened," he said firmly, still looking straight ahead.

Christine sighed heavily. "I promise," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear as she opened the car door. "I'll see you when I get home?"

"If I am back from the garage, yes. I'll make us dinner tonight." His tone softened as he looked at her with uncertain eyes, as if he was was thinking she wouldn't accept.

"Of course."

* * *

Christine hated school. It was prep school inhabited by trust fund babies. She didn't have any friends beside Meg. Christine was an outsider, the only reason she ever was around people was because of Raoul. She never liked the company he kept. Meg was often looked down upon because of her lack of poise that many other kids had. Meg's mother was a hard working single mom who put a lot of effort into getting her daughter into Pacific Point Academy. Meg and Christine were drawn to each other at a young age when they were both in the chorus of a school play in first grade. Meg was Christine's fierce defender all through school. The small blonde with the ferocity of a tiger who looked out for her timid best friend through all these years.

"Chris!" The small blond shouted as she weaved through the incoming flow of students into the building. By the time she reached Christine, Meg snagged her hand and began to drag her down the hallway.

"Meg, slow down!" Christine grunted in attempt to slow her pushy friend.

"No, you need to get to class!" Meg snapped pulling her harder.

"We have ten minutes before first period!" Christine said, prying her hand out of Meg's, upon release, Meg stumbled forward a few steps from the sudden momentum. "What is up with you this morning?"

Meg sighed. "Raoul found me this morning. He was looking for you and I didn't like the way he was acting-"

"Christine!"

"Fuck…" Meg muttered as Christine was spun around by a firm grip on her wrist as she was dragged away from Meg, Christine saw the swept back blonde hair that belonged to the body dragging her down the hallway.

"Raoul-" she only stopped herself when she saw Carly standing outside the girls' bathroom Raoul was dragging her toward.

"Empty," Carly said. She opened the door as Raoul pulled Christine through the doorway, swinging her in front of him as he pulled the door closed.

"Raoul what-"

"Why were you with _him_ yesterday?" Raoul snarled, backing her into the tile wall like a predator would his prey.

"Who?" she asked, trying to fake innocence.

"Don't bullshit me, Christine. Carly told me you were with your Dad's friend. I don't want you spending any more time with him. I don't like the way he looks at you-"

"Raoul, do you realize how weird that is? He's my _dad's friend!"_ Christine blurted out, trying to hide guilt to the best of her ability.

"He's a fucking freak in a mask!"

"Stop! He's nice Raoul-

"Oh, he's nice to you? Let me ask you Lotte, who bought you that ring?" Christine's heart began to race as Raoul tried to pry her hand into a position so he could slide the ring off. Her breaths became shallow and rapid as she tried to sort her thoughts into a lie. "I don't want you around him, I'm going to speak with your father-"

Raoul's fingers closed around the ring but she pulled away in time to keep it on, "No, or I'll tell Dad you keyed Erik's car!"

Raoul's icey blue eyes widened right before he let his backpack slide off his shoulder with a heavy thud. He roughly grabbed both of Christine's wrists and pinned her against the wall. "He showed you? Were you with him this morning? Alone in his car?" Raoul seethed, his face an inch away from hers. "That will not be happening anymore. I will be taking you to and from school as well as anywhere else you need to go. If he speaks to you, you will tell him to fuck off." Christine shuddered as Raoul's breath ghosted over her neck. Then she realized the difference between her shuddering with Erik and now with Raoul. Raoul tried to scare and intimidate her into submission. Yes, Erik was dominating but she knew that he would listen to her. "Am I making myself _very clear."_ he growled.

She whimpered as she felt his short nails dig into her wrist purposefully as she hesitated to answer.

He pressed his body up against hers. " _Christine,"_ he warned **.**

"Yes, I'm sor- sorry," she gasped trying to fight away the tears.

When he backed away, she slid to the ground limply. The bathroom door cracked open and Carly poked her head in.

"Lets go. Class is about to start." Carly said and Christine looked over to her. For a millisecond Christie swore she saw a look of remorse on Carly's face instead of the normal bitchy expression as Christine wiped away her now running mascara with trembling fingers.

"I'll see you after school," Raoul said firmly as he picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. He took a step toward the door, only stopping to look back at her once. "Clean your face up, we don't need you looking like a slut with running makeup, Lotte." And with that, he swung open the door and stepped out into the busy hallway.

Christine's couldn't stop shaking. Her breaths were shallow and quick. Like Erik had said, 'it feels like you're drowning.' She tried wrapping her arms around her torso, praying it would bring a feeling of security but it didn't. She spun the bands on her anxiety ring and tried to direct her focus on the texture **d** bands. As she bent her wrist to have easier access to the ring, she noticed the nail marks and bruised skin. A suffocating sob broke through.

'I will always answer' Erik had said to her that horrible night he found her burrowed in between her dresser and desk in the corner of her room during a panic attack.

Christine slowly reached into her back pocket for her cell phone, unlocking the screen to go into her recently saved contacts. Erik's name popped up on her screen and the fear of being a burden came to mind again. He would most likely be just pulling into the driveway, only to be turning around to go to an auto body shop to get the damaged Raoul had done to his car repaired.

'You are not a burden, Christine,' he had said that to her just this morning, and she hit the call button as she brought the phone to her ear. It rang, once, twice, three times and she lost hope that he wasn't lying when he said she wasn't a burden.

"Christine?" Erik answered, his voice laced with concern.

"E- Erik," she sniffed, "I- I'm so sorr-"

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you crying?" he asked gently.

She sniffed again trying to remind herself to breathe. "Raoul he- I'm so sorry. He said I can't talk to you-"

"Do not listen to him. Talk to me sweetheart, why are you crying?" he asked and she swore she heard the front door of her house close.

"He dragged me into the bathroom- he- he's really mad at me-"

"Did he hurt you?" Erik asked firmly as she heard a car door slam shut on the other side of the line.

"He pinned me up against a wall and- He," a broken sob left her, "Erik I can't do it. I don't know what I did-"

"Sweetheart, do you want me to come get you?" he asked, and Christine exhaled a small breath of relief.

"Yeah…" she whispered, sniffing again.

"Alright, I can't dismiss you but you're going to need to find a back door-"

"There's one out of the locker room on the back of the building. Raoul uses the one in the boys side to sneak out."

"Alright, I'll meet you there in ten minutes," he said softly as she heard the engine of her dad's Jeep start.

"Okay."

"Take a deep breath, I'll be right there."

* * *

Just as he promised, Erik was there looking at the door anxiously as Christine walked out of the door of the locker room. The second she got into the car, Erik had to resist every urge to pull her into his arms until they got off of the property and away from curious eyes.

"Thank you…" she said softly as she pulled the buckle over her still heaving chest. He only nodded silently, his eyes carefully tracing over her trembling frame.

"What was the one thing I told you not to mention to him, Christine?" he asked roughly.

"I didn't! He just knew, I'm sorry-"

"Christine, you deliberately disobeyed me. I don't care what he does to me, I don't care. He can damage my car as much as he wants as long as he doesn't hurt you," Erik fell silent as he watched her look away and fidget with her sleeves. "Please tell me he didn't-"

"He pinned me up against the wall- it's not a big deal, I'm just being-"

"Stop. Enough. We aren't doing this-" he only stopped when he noticed the bruises that were forming on her wrists. He carefully reached over the middle console and brushed his thumb over one of the purple marks.

"It's not that bad-"

"Not that bad? Christine- Jesus Christ," he mumbled releasing her wrist and reaching into his pants placket for his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" She asked anxiously.

"Taking pictures-"

She grasped his wrist, "No! You promised you wouldn't tell dad-"

He huffed out a deep sigh of disappointment, "I am not telling your father, Christine. I should, but you are correct. I did promise. However, if he ever lays a hand on you again I will not hesitate to go to the police." Erik said firmly. He knew it would happen again, unless he was able to convince her that she should leave him. It wasn't even for his own reasons of having her to himself. It was for her safely and well being. She could tell him to go to hell and he would still fight for her in the end.

Erik opened his camera and took her wrist gently as he pulled up her sleeve to show him nail marks and more bruises. "Do they hurt?" he asked and he snapped a few pictures at different angles. She only shrugged and sniffled again. "We'll get some ice on them when we get home," he said as he slid his phone back into his pocket. "I am serious Christine, if he touches you again I _will_ get the police involved and they will be the ones to tell your father."

Erik put the car in drive and left the school before he had the chance to get any ideas in his mind about destroying the boy's car as he did to his own. "His Dad would pay the police to make it go away…" Christine mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. "Mr. De Changy and Dad are good friends too. Dad would be furious-"

"Furious for you not allowing yourself to be beaten like a rag doll?" Erik snapped as he white knuckled the steering wheel. He heard Christine sniffle again. "I'm sorry sweetheart, go on," he murmured. He hated this, he hated Gustave in this moment. All Erik wanted to do was make the boy disappear, let Christine go to school without shaking with nerves to see the boy who supposedly loved her.

"He and Dad have a business deal, they meet up a lot in London 'cause both of the have offices there. I don't know, it's just- just Raoul has been a part of my life for so long. We started dating freshman year, and up until then he was my best friend." She sighed heavily, thinking about all those simple days that she and Raoul spent together as kids. "He wasn't always this way. He used to be very sweet and compassionate. He didn't want to be a businessman like his dad. He wanted to build boats," she said with the ghost of a laugh.

Christine remembered the first time she noticed Raoul starting to change. It was when they were about fourteeen, when Mr. De Chagny started coming home more. Raoul sometimes came over to her house with marks and bruises on his face, when she asked he would get angry with her very quickly. She tried to tell her father but his response was, 'Raoul's a strong boy, he will be just fine. He and his brother were probably just rough housing' but Christine knew it wasn't that. Then there was Raoul's mom. She was an empty shell of a woman who had the life sucked out of her by her husband and children. She was a tall, beautiful blond woman, always kind but very fragile and hollow. Phil, Raoul's older brother was the black sheep of the family. Phil, however, was roped into the family business, but instead it was the charity fund they ran in Europe, claiming he didn't want to be involved with his father's ruthless business tactics. Their family was a mess on the inside, but the second a prying eye came at them they were the picturesque family. Raoul had the habit of pretending everything was fine, but on the inside a storm was always brewing.

Christine only realized when Erik called her name again that she had been spacing out. "Come on, we need to get ice on those bruises."

* * *

Erik had put an ice pack on her wrists as they sat on the couch in the living room. He **r** head rested on his thigh as his fingers brushed through the curls in her hair.

"Thank you again, Erik," she whispered, maneuvering her head to look up into his jade eyes. He only nodded and sighed, leaning his head back against the couch cushion and closing his eyes as he tried to process this morning's events.

"Have you ever been engaged?"

Erik slowly blinked his eyes open, looking down at Christine curiously. "What?" he asked curiously, not sure if he had heard her right or where that question even came from.

"Well, I don't know. I was just thinking back to when I was younger and well- Dad alway used to say to me as a little girl that I would live in a beautiful house by the sea, and would marry Raoul and never have to worry about anything-" she heard Erik scoff. "And well, I was just curious. Have you ever been married or engaged?"

"Almost," he said softly.

"Almost?" she meekly asked.

"A very long time ago…"

"What was her name?" Christine whispered. Erik's hand that was brushing through her curls ceased.

"Luciana."

A silence sat between them for a moment, Christine trying to read his expression, Erik trying to calm himself. It was true, they were almost engaged. Erik had contemplated it many times just to assure her safety in the corrupt, backwards community he lived in while Mexico. Family and wives were assured safety, but Luciana was neither of those things. She was sent to him as a whore, sold by her father to traffickers in exchange for drugs.

That little girl was Erik's whole world. He was her protector and caregiver. Their love was never romantic in his mind, he could never see her that way. He knew she was in love with him. It was obvious.

* * *

**Mexico Fourteen Years Ago**

Erik confused the hell out of poor Luciana. He hadn't known how bad it was until he came home late one evening, stumbling his way through the door after leaving one girl's flat or another's. He couldn't quite remember who he had been with, but that night was etched in his mind forever.

He was drunk and high. Cocaine had been his drug of choice then - a miraculous little powder that allowed him to drink far past the limit he should have been able to.

He sat in the kitchen, hunched over the edge of the table. He hadn't been quite able to make it to his bedroom, but the kitchen was halfway there - just a small break while he regrouped to finish the journey that seemed so unmanageable at the moment.

It was the creak in the hallway that alerted him to her presence. He lifted his head, looking over at Luciana, standing in the doorway, shifting nervously from foot-to-foot.

"Why are you up?" he gruffed, sliding his phone out of his pocket and squinting at the screen, trying to make out the time. He gave up on reading the smudged numbers. There were only three instead of four - regardless of what it read it was far too late for her to be out of bed. "It's very late."

"I heard you come home," she said nervously, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I thought - I don't know. I thought you might need help."

His brow furrowed. "Help?" he asked, looking at her carefully. "I am more than capable of caring for myself, Luciana. Go to bed, chiquita."

"Sometimes…" she stopped herself, her cheeks burning bright red.

He waited patiently for her to finish but instead she just stared at her toes, her cheeks burning crimson red. "... sometimes what, sweetheart?" he asked softly, resting his cheek in his palm.

"Sometimes you need help," she said, shrugging her shoulders and avoiding his eye. "That's all."

There were two of her as he stared at her. He knew, logically, that there was only one of her, but he still saw two, the lines between them merging and breaking. "What kind of help?" he asked, suddenly horrified with himself. If his mouth wasn't already dry it would be now.

She swallowed, her arms tightening over her chest. "Not - Sometimes you just need help," she said softly. "You can't find the bedroom or - or sometimes you have trouble changing. Just… things like that."

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to wipe the second image of her away. "How often do you help me change, Luciana?" he asked, sure that the words were slurring together in his mouth.

"Not very often," she said softly, taking a step into the kitchen. "Only when - when you can't."

He could have fallen asleep right there at the kitchen table. He rested his temple against his palm, his eyes sliding closed of their own volition. "You shouldn't have to do that," he mumbled.

"I don't mind," she said softly.

He could hear her making her way slowly across the kitchen. He wanted so badly to tell her to stop, to turn around and go back to bed, but his lips couldn't form the words. His eyelids were heavy - he couldn't even bring himself to blink them open.

The weight of a slender body that slid onto his lap wasn't entirely unwelcome. It was soft and feminine. She smelled like soap and conditioner and his free hand curled around her waist, holding her in place as she straddled him right there on the kitchen chair.

The lips that pressed against his were warm and soft; they were obviously inexperienced but they were determined, brushing needily against his.

He kissed them back. He coaxed them open - his hand found soft hair and he pulled the warm body closer against him. His tongue slid between her teeth, pressing against hers.

It was the sound that she made they snapped him out of it; something caught between a whimper and a moan. His eyes snapped open and there she was - her eyes closed, her lips against his, her hair soft in his hand and her kiss inexperienced.

He pushed her away gently as he pulled out of it and her brown eyes quickly open, disappointment clouding them. "What are you doing?" he asked roughly.

He hated the sad look in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together. He hated the embarrassed flush in her cheeks. "I thought…"

"You thought wrong, Luciana," he said softly, tracing his thumb gently over her cheek.

She worried her lip between her teeth, staring at the top button of his shirt in embarrassment. "Am I not… do you not think I am… bonita?"

"Pretty," he breathed, leaning back in his chair. "You are very pretty, chiquita."

She leaned forward, attempting to bring her lips to his again. He turned his head, catching her warm lips against his cheek. "I do not understand," she admitted, her eyes focusing back on his button. "If I am… if you think I am pretty… I do not understand."

"You are…" he trailed off, sighing as he tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't offend her. "You are very pretty, chiquita, but that is what you are. A little girl. I can't…" he huffed, his head falling back against the chair. "I can't see you that way, sweetheart."

She swallowed hard, staring self-consciously at the collar of his shirt. "But when I am older-"

"You will still be my chiquita," he said softly. "You will always be a little girl to me, Luciana."

* * *

"What happened?"

"She died," he snapped, quickly taking his hand away from Christine and shifting out from under her head. He stood and brushed off his clothes. He desperately tried to get Luciana out of mind. Little Luciana whose fate was so cruelly sealed so many years ago.

"Erik?" Christine asked timidly, moving to kneel on the couch, "What-"

"I have to go to the autobody shop, get my car taken care of. If you hear noise it's just a tow truck." He said turning from her. It was the only excuse he could think of to get some air and clear his head but a he glanced back at Christine and saw her jaw tremble he knew he couldn't just leave the poor girl like this. He sighed and walked back to the couch, bringing his fingertip under her jaw and and brought his lips to her forehead. "I will be back soon, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, leaning against him. A breath of relief ghosting over his throat.

"For what?"

"For prying- Dad told me not to but, well-"

"There is nothing wrong with curiosity. I would be concerned if you weren't," he chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear and leaning forward to kissing the tip of her nose right before she yawned softly. "Keep the ice on your wrist, take a nap if you're tired. I'll only be a few hours."

She nodded and laid back down as he turned on his heel, heading toward the door. Christine was already asleep as her phone began to buzz over and over again from two different callers. Her boyfriend and her father.


	12. Envy

Erik sat at an auto body garage for about five hours, hating every second of his existence. Every few moments he could see the lady at the front desk eyeing him suspiciously. In all fairness to her, Erik knew it wasn't everyday a man would show up with the words 'PEDO' keyed into his car, all his tires slashed, and offer to pay in all cash if the damage could be removed today.

"Alright Mr. Deveraux, you're all set," a man covered in motor oil said emerging from the garage door entrance into the office. Erik couldn't see where the oil and the skin were separated. The man was short and balding, a build too muscular to be natural. _Steroids most likely_ Erik thought to himself. Erik stood and cracked his back, uncomfortable from the hard chairs, and cleared his throat. His chest felt heavy from all the smoke he had inhaled in the time he had been waiting. He had gotten up for a stretch and walk every twenty minutes and finished a whole pack of cigarettes in the process.

"She's a nice car there, sir," the man said, handing Erik the keys and glancing back to the Audi. "If you ever need a quick buyer I'll take it off your hands, no questions asked."

Erik huffed out a laugh and raised his brow at the man's offer, "No questions asked?"

"Well, it's not everyday someone shows up to have the word "PEDO" removed from his car with all the tires slashed and pays in cash. You seem to have a style-"

Erik furled his fists, "A style? Hmm," he mused, looking the man up and down again, "Then let me ask you-" he glanced at the name tag of his uniform, "Kyle is it?" And the man nodded, "Kyle I am going to guess that your style is injecting yourself a few times a day, trying to make up for whatever your body naturally lacks-" Erik found the wedding band on Kyle's ring finger, "Trying to make it up to your wife who swears she isn't cheating on you. I think that is _your_ style." Erik sneered, seeing the look of embarrassment wash over the man's face. Erik clicked his tongue in mock disappointment as he turned on his heel and made his way toward the exit.

Erik slid into the driver's seat of his car, reaching for another cigarette. The fact that he smoked all of them had seemed to slip his mind the past few moments during his rather rude outburst. It was uncalled for, Erik knew that, but he found himself needing to blow off some steam. Poor guy.

The domesticity of living with Gustave was a stark contrast to his lifestyle in Mexico, and his life in prison. Mexico was full of false freedom, the day he arrived money, women, drugs, fast cars, and guns were put in front of him. He was only twenty years old. Before he knew it, he was living in a world of murder and corruption. It was heaven at first, but after two years it faded into hell.

' _You seem to have a style…'_ Erik chuckled to himself as he thought about those words while starting his car and heading towards the convenience store by the house. His style? His style was being a murderer, cheat, thief, someone unworthy of second chances.

His phone began to buzz as he pulled to a stop at a red light. Sliding it out of his pocket he glanced down at the name. _**Gustave**_ it read, and Erik groaned. This was the last person on earth he wanted to be speaking with at the moment. Then Erik thought about Raoul, wondering if this was the call telling Erik to pack his things and get the fuck out. With great reluctance Erik slid his thumb over the screen to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you got a sec?" Gustave said from the other side of the phone.

"Uh, yeah," Erik said as the light turned to green and he pulled onto the highway from the intersection.

"So, I just got off the phone with Christine. She says you two are getting along nicely?" he asked. Erik tried to hold back a snicker, they were getting along nicely indeed he thought.

"Yeah, she's a good kid," he muttered, feeling bile in his stomach grumble at he referred to the person he was having _relations_ with as 'kid'.

"Well, I thought she was." Gustave let out a long sigh, "I just got a call from the school, she skipped again today. I- I don't understand Erik. She never had done this before. I called her and she said she called an Uber to pick her up cause of a headache." Erik rolled his eyes, knowing Christine was covering for that boyfriend of hers and himself.

"Huh, I haven't seen her today-"

"Where have you been?"

"Uh, shopping and getting some detailing done on my car." Erik answered, half telling the truth.

There was a silence on the other side of the phone and Erik's stomach churned thinking the very worst, worrying if this was just a trick to get him to lie to Gustave.

"...I need a favor, Erik." Gustave mumbled, "You do owe me one."

Erik was silent for a moment, "What?"

"Keep an eye on her for me. I'm worried,"

Erik had to hold back a comment about 'if you're so worried, why aren't you here?'

"She's a high school student, Gustave. You remember how I was-"

"Exactly, Erik. Listen, you are like my little brother but you were not the ideal teenager." Gustave said with the ghost of a laugh.

"Don't I know it…" he chuckled, and Gustave let out a soft laugh.

"In all seriousness, please Erik. She's my little girl, she's all I have please keep an eye in her. Raoul said he will talk to her, he's on his way to the house now."

Erik's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he sped up after the light changed, needing to arrive at the house before the boy did.

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye on her."

"Thank you. I'm about to head out for dinner with Raoul's father. I'll see you in a few weeks for Christine's graduation… Maybe we can catch up a bit, talk over a few drinks like old times. I felt bad I didn't even see you when I was home for her birthday."

"You're a busy man-"

"It's no excuse not to make time for my old friend," Gustave said firmly. Erik cl **e** nched his jaw at the thought of Gustave wanting to spend time with him rather than his own daughter.

"Yeah, maybe." Erik huffed.

"I'll see in a few weeks. Take care of yourself and her, please." And with that Erik hung up before Gustave had the chance to say anything else.

When he arrived home there was no navy BMW in the driveway. The second he stepped out of the car and walked into the house with quickened pace, he saw Christine sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest as she typed away on her phone.

"Christine?" he said softly, studying the worried expression she wore. She blinked a few times before turning her head to look at him.

"Where is he?" Erik asked, walking toward the couch and sitting down next to her.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Christine. I'm trying to help you." He grumbled roughly.

"On his way… Five min-" and she stopped short, quickly jumping off the couch and running to the bay window that looked out into the driveway.

"What is it?" he asked, going to look out the window over her head. Then he saw the blond boy getting out of his car and pulling off his sunglasses. Erik felt himself involuntarily rolling his eyes as Raoul glanced into the side view mirror of his car and fluffed his hair.

"I'll go outside-"

"You don't have to go out there-"

"Yes. I do, Erik. You know I have to, I'll only be a few minutes, I'll tell him I have plans with Meg tonight." She said looking back at him with a worried expression. Erik sighed and nodded, knowing she was right. "Ten minutes, I promise."

—

"Lotte, you know I love you. You know that right?" Raoul asked, his smile convincing as ever. Erik could hear every word the boy spoke as they sat outside the house on the deck where Erik could hear them from the window of Christine's bedroom. He peered through the drapes as the boy pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"I know- I just wish you-"

Raoul sighed, "I only wish you could understand I am trying to protect you. There is so much so be afraid of, people and places and I never want to you be in harm, Christine," he mumbled.

"Thank you," she said dreamily, looking up into his eyes as he craned his neck down to press his lips to hers.

Erik watched the trusting way she let him hold her, the way she let him **c** oax her mouth open. He felt sick, this boy only a few nights ago had her pinned under him and if Erik hadn't stepped it probably would have raped her.

"I love you, Christine. Do you love me, Lotte?" Raoul asked as he pulled away.

"I do, I'm sorry I upset you," she said meekly. After that, Erik had to step away. He felt his heart begin to race, and shatter as he stood from the chaise next to the window of her bedroom. His hands shook with fury, all he wanted to do was drag Christine away from Raoul and convince her to leave him.

He paced her bedroom, waiting to hear the sound of the boy leaving. His heart ached, a feeling he was never familiar with when a girl hurt him so deeply. A girl who was not _his_ in the first place.

After a few moments he heard the slam of a car door and the engine of a BMW start, Erik headed down stairs. The second he saw Christine dreamily smiling as she sat on the couch he knew he needed space.

"I'm headed out for a while." He grunted, heading toward the door.

"What?"

" _I said_ I am heading out for a while." He repeated impatiently, placing his hand on the door knob.

"I thought we could- well, I wanted to help you make dinner-"

"Why don't you invite your boyfriend back and have him make you dinner?" Erik growled, feeling the jealousy she had rooted deep inside of him emerge.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked standing from the couch and trying to show she wasn't hurt by his abrupt notion of leaving the house.

"Well, obviously since he loves you so much and you return his affections, it seems like you two are a true fit," Erik said turning to look at her,

"Erik, he said-"

"Oh, I know what he said! And let me guess, you believed every word of it!" Christine was silent as Erik's temper emerged. "Let me ask you, who left those bruises on your wrist?" Erik's chest heaved in anger towards the boy and Christine's childish sense of trust.

"You did the same thing…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she shook her head in disbelief of his hurtful words. She saw him take a step forward with clenched fists and she flinched, closing her eyes and awaiting the blow she knew would be coming in contact with her cheek. It never came, all she heard was footsteps and the slam of the front door.

* * *

Christine lay in her bed, warm tears spilling down her face. She was an idiot, she knew that for sure. It had been only a week once Erik arrived and suddenly her life was changing in ways she never expected. The warm fuzzy feeling in her stomach she never had when Raoul was around. Raoul gave her those feelings at first, but then it seemed to die.

She hated those last words she said to him before he left. When she took his mask off, something that made him feel less vulnerable to the world she knew that it was not the real Erik in that moment.

She wasn't sure what she felt for Erik. Love popped into her mind, but at the same time she had known him for such a short time. Protection, and comfort was what it was. In all honesty, she didn't feel bad for cheating on Raoul. If she could have, she and Raoul would have been done a year ago only if it wouldn't anger her father. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

She didn't eat, she didn't change out of her school clothes, she didn't answer Meg's text messages. Finally, after dozing in and out of sleep for a few hours, she fell sound asleep deep into the night after the sun had set. She should have gotten up, eaten, changed and studied for finals next week but all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wish Erik was there holding her.

Around eleven at night she got up to use the bathroom, and after she went and looked out the window to see if there was any light in the guest house. There wasn't. There was no music coming from the deck with the smell of cigarettes in the air. Erik hadn't come home. When Christine returned to her bedroom she picked up her phone and looked for a text from him. There was nothing. Impulsively, she texted him:

**Please come home.**

After she laid back down and feel back into a restless sleep until many hours later she heard the opening of her bedroom door and the familiar smell of cologne and cigarettes. She sighed sleepily as the he heard the ruffle of fabric and the drop of shoes onto her carpet.

"Erik?" she said softly, rolling over to face his side of the bed.

"Shh, go back to sleep," he whispered, placing his hands on either side of her head and leaning down to softly kiss her nose.

"I'm sorry…" she mumbled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and pulling him to sit down on the edge of her bed.

"No, sweetheart. I'm sorry, you- I can't get angry like that with you. It's not fair, I'm sorry," he murmured, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.

"Please don't leave like that again…" she asked softly. He nodded his head in agreement.

"I'm so tired," she said closing her eyes, and retracting her arms from his neck.

He nodded again, "I'll let you sleep-"

"Stay."

"I was planning on it," he said as he pulled away from her and stood to unbutton his black button down and slid it off his broad shoulders to show a black wife-beater under it. She had a good view of the full sleeve of tattoos again and when he climbed under the blankets with her she fell sound asleep wrapped in the warmth and safety of his arms.

As usual, Erik remained wide awake. She asked him never to leave like that again, and he agreed. In all honesty it was for her own good that he took space. His temper was like a tripwire most days just waiting for the right person to trip over it and set off the explosion. It was better for both of them. He couldn't bare the feeling of hurting her again. The way she flinched when he clenched his fists. It broke his heart. She broke his heart.

* * *

When Christine arrived at school the next day, it was peaceful. Raoul had apparently decided to ditch. Christine knew Raoul already was accepted into NYU and had given up caring about school for the rest of the year, well the few weeks they had left.

She and Meg sat outside the school cafeteria under the shade of a tree while they ate lunch.

"So, your dad's mad at you for leaving yesterday cause you had an anxiety attack?" Meg asked as she munched on a sandwich.

"Yeah." Christine huffed, leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

Only a moment passed before Meg's brow furrowed, "Who picked you up?"

"Uh, I took an Uber." She lied.

"You're a terrible liar, Chris." Meg laughed, "Come on, it obviously wasn't Raoul and-"

"Erik." Christine blurted.

"Your Dad's friend? Is he still there?"

"...yeah-"

"Jesus. Is he like a dead beat or something? Does the dude even have a job-" Christine shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, he seems like an okay guy. What is he like your uncle or something I guess?"

Christine internally cringed at that, "I mean, yeah. He's my _uncle."_

"Cool. That was nice of him." Meg said buying it. Christine sighed in relief just as the warning bell went off for them to get to their next class.

As Christine sat in her Spanish class while her teacher chattered on about the final study guide, she couldn't help but wonder about Erik again. Was he planning on moving out? Where would he go? Did she want him to leave? God no, she didn't want him to leave. It was stupid and selfish but if he could stick around and just live in the guest house forever she would be fine with that.

The job question was still there. Was he just freeloading off of her father? He obviously had money. The car, the watches, and even the brands of his clothing. Most of it was expensive, but at the same time he was not like Raoul in the way Raoul flaunted his money in an arrogant fashion. Erik was subtle, most of the time.

Was is family money? Did he work from home? She never saw him on a laptop or important phone calls like her father would. Christine wasn't even sure what was off limits to talk about with him after the incident with mentioning his past love life.

"Christine? Everything okay over there?" Christine's attention was caught by her teacher who was standing over her desk.

"Wha- oh, yeah. Sorry Miss Keegan, just daydreaming." Christine said embarrassed about being caught.

"Just a case of senior-idus I'm guessing. I just wanted to ask you about you if you're prepared for the final tomorrow. Have you studied?" Her teacher asked nicely.

"Uh, I thought it was next week..." Christine admitted nervously now panicking a bit. Spanish was her worst class, barely making it through with a C+. She tried dammit, but it was no use. Meg took personal finances as her elective and Raoul somehow ended up with a free period. Nobody was able to help her. Her father spoke Swedish and French, not freaking Spanish. She was horrible at it.

"I'll take that as a no then, Miss Daae. Alright, well try to get some studying in this weekend."

* * *

"How was school?" Erik asked as she slid into his car.

"Ugh, I have my Spanish final tomorrow and I am going to fail. Nobody speaks Spanish that I know. It sucks-"

"I'm fluent." He said flippantly, as he lit a cigarette.

"Wait, really?" She asked surprised.

He shrugged, "Si, lo he hablado por cerca de dieciséis años."

"Sixteen years? Jesus, where did you learn?"

Erik huffed, "I did some work down in Mexico. A long time ago."

"That's pretty cool." Then Christine remembered her curiosity about his job from earlier, "What did you do?"

"Architecture." He said flatly.

"So that's why you're good at math." He only shrugged. "Do you still do that, do you have a job now?"

"No, not right now." He said putting the car in drive.

"Oh, so where are you- how do you-"

"Get money?" He said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "If you are insinuating that I am either a thief or mooching off of your father?"

Christine's eyes widened, "What? No, no, no, I am so sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Relax, I know." He said reaching over the center console of the car to grasp her hand as she look down at the floor of the car embarrassed, "No, I have funds left over from previous jobs and family money. I was a trust fund kid like you and your boyfriend." He said taking another puff of his cigarette.

She huffed out a laugh, "Yeah…" Christine then looked up to scan her surroundings as Erik took a left turn. "Where are we going?"

"An empty parking lot." He said flatly.

"What? Why?" She asked looking back to him.

"You are going to learn how to drive."

* * *

After a half hour of arguing about whether or not she was going to be driving and Erik threatening to pick her up and put her in the driver's seat, Christine agreed.

"Come on, you have to learn." Erik said as Christine folded her arms over her chest, "What's the worst that could happen? There is nobody around, and there is virtually nothing you could hit."

She shook her head stubbornly, "This is a really nice car, Erik. I do not want to crash it-"

"You won't, sweetheart. I promise you won't. Trust yourself, I wouldn't let you drive if I didn't think you could." He said trying to build her confidence.

After a few moments of silence where he knew Christine was internally debating this whole ordeal until she look up at him nervously, "What do I do first?"

He smiles lightly at her, "Ok, so you know where the brakes and gas are?" He sailed leaning closer to her and pointing to the two pedals on the floor.

"Yeah," she placed a foot on each pedal.

"No, one foot." He instructed.

"Then how do I brake and go faster, quickly?"

"You move your right foot, your left foot does not touch the pedals at any time."

Christine huffed and looked down before moving her left foot out of the way.

"Good, now you know left and right I would hope. You want to keep your hands at ten and two at all times-"

"You drive with one hand." She interjected.

"I have also been driving for about twenty two years, I am capable of driving with one hand. Now focus,"

Erik's reasoning behind teaching her to drive was simple. The sooner she got her license, the sooner she could no longer be reliant on Raoul for rides to and from school, and anywhere else she wanted and needed to go. Freedom and independence from her boyfriend was the first thing of many Erik wanted her to gain.

"Alright, put it in drive and keep your foot on the brake your not using the gas yet it will go into a slow roll at first. Foot on the brake and shift into drive-" and before he could finish his sentence Christine had slammed her foot onto the wrong pedal and the car flew forward about ten feet until Erik screamed, "Wrong fuckin; pedal! Hit the brake!" He almost hit his head on the dash when she slammed onto the breaks.

"See? I can't do this!" Christine cried, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was hanging onto the steering wheel.

"Yes, you can and you will. We will stay here as long a it takes till you feel comfortable behind the wheel. I have confidence in you, now you need to have it in yourself." He watched the way she tried to hide a shy smile from his view. "Come on, try again for me." And finally, after her confidence was built up by him, she drove. It was with two feet, but Erik only rolled his eyes and let her continue on.

At one point she was comfortable enough to let him put on music without squealing, "Shh, stop! I need to focus!" Which only made him laugh in return at her growing quickly annoyed with his antics.

After another two hours of driving Erik decided it was enough, especially after Christine began to complain she had to pee. About twenty times.

"Ok if you need to need to pee so badly drive us home," he directed, pointing to the opening that led out to the main road. He swore he audibly heard Christine gulp in fear of driving on the highway.

"I'll hold it." She whispered her eyes wide with terror as she heard another car rev their engine and take off down the highway. Soon she began to squirm in her seat, "Ok, I need to pee."

"Drive home then."

"I- I can't." She whimpered. Finally when she began to beg to go home adding the excuse of needing to study for a final he caved. As they switched seats Erik watched the way she crossed her legs tightly and she huffed as he laughed quietly. "It's not funny! You're a dude! You can pee wherever you want!" She whined, pushing her head back against the headrest.

"If you need to go squat in the trees over there you can, I don't think any of the drivers would mind the view." he mumbled sarcastically. Christine gasped and smacked his arm harder than he expected her to before she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

"I'm kidding. Just don't piss in my car." He mumbled, putting the car in drive and stepping on the gas to take them home.

* * *

After they arrived home and Christine relieved herself Erik headed towards the kitchen in search of stuff for dinner. He heard Christine moving around somewhere behind him and then a heavy thud. Christine stood at the island counter, her heavy backpack now sitting on the counter.

"What the hell is in there, rocks?" He asked, wondering if the poor girl was going to have back problems.

"Nope, all my Spanish textbooks from the last four years of school. I have my final on Monday and I haven't studied a bit."

Erik shook his head as he turned his back to her and began looking through the refrigerator for something to make for dinner, "Well that was a mistake on your part."

Christine was silent for a moment until she thought back to their conversation earlier, "Will you help me study?" She asked

"There we go, I was just waiting for you to ask." He chuckled as he pulled out some chicken and vegetables. "What's the exam topic?"

"Anything we've been over this year. Which is a lot of cultural stuff and then like the basics of conversation but my teacher is gonna be really knit picky with details."

"Alright, I think I can help with that."

Helping her study for her exams was strangely similar to a period of time where Erik was dead set on teaching Luciana English.

* * *

Erik came home one evening with a box of pencils and a notebook, dropping them on the table while Luciana eyed him suspiciously from the stove.

"What is that?" she asked.

"A gift," Erik said. "Come here, turn off the stove and sit down, chiquita."

She obeyed, looking curious, and when he pulled a chair out for her she slid into it. She reached out, flipping the notebook open and her brow furrowed when she realized the pages were empty, nothing but blank lined paper.

"Have you ever been to school, Luciana?" he asked, watching her as she flipped through the blank pages curiously.

She shook her head, glancing up at him. "When I was very little," she said. "Only a little bit."

He knelt down by her chair, looking at her carefully. "When you get to America there will be so much opportunity," he said softly. "You will have so many options but education is important. I can teach you - just a little bit, not everything, but enough to get you started."

* * *

"Oh my god, you've had me repeat that same sentence about eighty times now!" Christine complained as Erik took away her now empty plate of food.

"Because we have been at this for two hours now and you are still getting it wrong, sweetheart."

"My brain is fried Erik, I just want to take a shower and go to bed."

"Alright, fine." He grumbled, leaning back against the counter as he picked up his own plate and took a bite of his own. He watched Christine as she sauntered towards him, leaving all of her books open on the counter. She opened her arms and he smirked while placing his plate back down and taking her into his arms.

"Thank you." She mumbled, nuzzling her head against his chest and reaching up to twirl the short hairs on the scruff of his neck between her fingers gently. She could hear his strong heartbeat as she inhaled deeply and smelled the spice of his cologne on the fabric of his soft v-neck.

"Your welcome." He sighed and she felt his soft lips press onto her forehead. "Go shower, I'll be up in a few minutes." He said releasing her from his embrace. She nodded and walked by the mess of papers and books on the counter as she ran up the stairs towards her room. Erik looked at the dishes that he should wash but instead he decided to leave them for tomorrow and made his way into the guest house to change so he could comfortably crawl into bed with her. A few nights he had slept in jeans was not the most comfortable thing in the world.

He walked into the guest house and undid his pants, kicking off his shoes in the process. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants as he shoved his pants down his legs and pulled the sweats on. Heading to the bathroom he pulled off his mask placing it on the counter. He splashed the cold water over his face, looking at how raw and red the skin had gotten from keeping it on so much recently. His face demanded a break but the last thing he wanted to do was scare Christine away from him again with his horrid malformed face. With a heavy sigh he dried off his irritated skin and placed the mask back on.

Erik picked up his pants off the ground and pulled his cigarettes and phone out of the pockets before dropping them to a heap on the floor again before he made his way outside to smoke before he returned inside the main house to crawl into bed with Christine.

* * *

When Christine had gotten dressed and left the shower she had ran downstairs and grabbed her books off of the counter. She had given herself a pep talk in the shower, convincing herself to stay up until she couldn't keep here eyes open anymore to study for the final tomorrow.

She ungracefully plopped herself into the desk chair and opened her textbook and notebooks and got to work just as Erik walked into the room.


	13. Needed Me

"What are you doing?" he asked, walking over and looking over her shoulders onto the desk.

"Studying for finals. I'm gonna stay up until my eyes close-"

"What you need is sleep," he said with a disappointed sigh as he went to lounge on her bed as he watched her. "Without it you will fail anyway."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she snapped.

He had simply leaned back against her pillows with a sigh.

The truth was that he was mostly right. By the time he picked her up from school the next afternoon she could hardly keep her eyes open. She had stayed up until three a.m. when Erik looked over and found her collapsed onto the desk. He had practically carried her to bed, flipping her books closed and turning off her reading light.

He was a surprisingly good sport about it. When she got in the car he simply reached over and took her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles as she nodded off to sleep in the passenger seat. She thought that he was talking to her - she could hear the warm, dark timbre of his voice - but it was soothing and it only pushed her further into sleep instead of pulling her awake.

It was the cool breeze that woke her when he opened the passenger door in the driveway.

"Christine," he murmured, stooping down in the doorway of the car. "We're home. You have to get up."

She only shook her head, curling closer against the comfortable leather seat of his car.

"Are you going to make me carry you?" he asked warmly, not sounding opposed to the idea himself.

"Mhm," she hummed, not even bothering to open her eyes.

She heard the click of her seatbelt and felt his hand as he guided it gently off of her, pressing his lips to her jaw with a sigh. She never could find it in her to call him out for his stolen kisses where they could be seen in public - they were sweet and gentle. They always warmed her. He had a way of making her feel so _wanted_ and for that she would allow him a thousand stolen kisses. His warm hand slid up her back and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as his other hand slid beneath her knees. "Straight to bed for you, I think," he said as he lifted her, using his hip to close the car door.

"Your bed," she said sleepily, tightening her arms around his neck.

" _My_ bed?" he teased gently. "Why on earth would you want to go to my bed?"

His voice was warm and she smiled, blinking up at him. "I wanna snuggle. Your bed is warm and smells good."

"I do not _snuggle_ , Christine," he said disdainfully, even as he carried her around the side of the house and toward the guest house. "You _snuggle_ with teddy bears and puppies."

"What about 'cuddle?" she hummed, resting her temple against his shoulder. He didn't respond. "Well then just lay with me," she tried as he shifted her in his arms, trying to juggle her and the keys for the door.

"Of course…" he said, the smirk obvious in his tone.

"Erik… I want a puppy," she said with a yawn, nuzzling herself as close as possible to his chest, listening to the calming beat of his heart.

"Where on earth did that come from?" he asked.

"You brought it up," she reminded him, her arms tightening around his neck. "And they are just so cute."

He pushed the door open, closing it with his foot as he carried her toward his bed. "The last thing you need is a puppy," he said eventually, depositing her on top of his blankets with a smile, climbing on beside her and nuzzling against her throat with a sigh. "It would become my puppy… and _I_ do not want a puppy."

She sighed, pulling his arm around her waist as she turned on her side. He wrapped himself around her, his warm breath ghosting over her throat, his thumb absently trailing over her stomach. "Dad would help," she murmured against his pillow.

"When? He's here even less than you… and it's not like I'll be able live here forever-"

"Don't tell me that."

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, his hand shifting as he pulled her even tighter against him. " _You_ cannot live here forever either, Christine," he said softly.

"Dad would be perfectly happy if I did," she argued sleepily, shifting against him.

He only hummed, his hand trailing warmly over her stomach. When his fingers slid under the edge of her shirt she made no complaint, relaxing against him as he splayed his bare hand open against her skin. "You know," he whispered against her ear, his hand trailing even further up until his fingers brushed against the band of her bra. "Every single day I am stricken by just how beautiful you are." He traced the band of her bra from one edge to the other, his fingers barely skimming against her as he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot of skin just behind her ear.

His voice alone was sometimes enough to make her whimper and she arched her back, brushing against him.

"You are a _vixen_ ," he hissed against her ear, his hand sliding down and clutching her waist just a bit too hard, his fingers digging into her skin as he held her still.

"A vixen," she repeated with a breathy laugh, her fingers pulling at his. "I didn't realize you were _that_ old."

He huffed, brushing his lips against her throat gently. "A _tease_ ," he said gruffly. "Is that better?"

She tilted her head to the side and he rose on his elbow, leaning over as he claimed her lips at an awkward angle. She sighed against his welcomed attack on her, her fingers slotting between his on her waist. "What if I'm not?" she whispered, a pink blush coming over her face as he pulled away from her.

He hummed deep in his throat, his thumb brushing over her side as he held her still, rolling his hips slowly, only once, letting her feel the drag of his hardness. "Then you would be lying to us both," he said, his voice dark and warm.

She shivered, her hand sliding up his arm. "I'm not a liar," she argued weakly.

He chuckled darkly, his lips skimming against her throat. "I know a few who might beg to differ." His arm wrapped over her waist as his hips slid against hers once more. He groaned, his breath sharp against her throat. "You do this to me, Christine," his lips were practically against her ear and a chill ran down her spine. "So beautiful, so perfect. You've no idea how difficult it is to control myself around you, to share a bed night after night with you pressed up against me."

She swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, unsure what else to say. Her leggings were thin and she could feel the outline of him fully against her skin, even through the slightly thicker fabric of his black jeans.

"It's a good kind of torture," he murmured, his hand sliding down, forcing itself between her warm thighs. "Don't be."

She let out a breathy sigh as his thumb traced over the curve of her inner thigh.

"What is this?" he asked, pinching the material of her leggings between his thumb and forefinger, his knuckles brushing between her legs.

"Leggings," she murmured, shifting as he brushed his knuckles against her again. "Do you not like them?"

He released the thin material, pressing his palm flat between her legs. "They hardly qualify as pants," he answered, his hand rubbing teasingly against her. "I don't _dislike_ them," he murmured in her ear, his hand continuing its teasing movement. "I much prefer your skin."

She shuddered, her hips bucking lightly. She opened her tired eyes to see him staring at her, his eyes dark and full of lust. He caught her eye, leaning over and kissing her again. She felt his fingers as they hooked in the band of her leggings, one finger slipping into the elastic band of her underwear. "Erik, I-" she said her eyes snapping open.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" he asked pressing a soft kiss to her jaw. She didn't answer. "Hmm?" He nipped at her neck causing her to gasp.

"That you would never do anything that I wasn't okay with…" she said, closing her eyes, remembering that she _should_ trust him.

"Good girl," he whispered in her ear. "I promised you, Christine. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you," she breathed.

He hummed, kissing her again as he yanked both garments down with one swift tug. Her thighs clenched together tightly as he shifted over her, pulling them the rest of the way down. His warm hand pressed against her shoulder, guiding her to lay on her back. His hand rested against her thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles in her tensed muscle. "Suddenly shy, Christine?" he asked in an amused way. She shook her head and he sighed, tugging at the bottom of her shirt with two fingers. "This too," he murmured.

"Okay," she whispered nervously, nodding at his request.

He drew himself up on his knees beside her, towering over her as his hands slid up the curves of her hips, palms pressed flat against her sides. She shivered under his touch, biting the inside of her lip as he pushed her shirt up. "What are you afraid of?" he asked softly as he tossed her shirt to the side. He pressed one palm flat against the curls between her legs, running it up until he met the barrier of her bra. "Do you think that I'm lying when I say you are beautiful?" he murmured, leaning halfway over her.

"No," her answer was a quivering, weak thing and he sighed.

His hand traveled back down her stomach and he slid his thumb into the gap between her clenched thighs, running it over the folds of her flesh. "No what, Christine?"

"You wouldn't -" her breath caught as his thumb pressed down, dragging just a bit too gently over her "- wouldn't lie to me."

"No, I wouldn't," he said softly, leaning back down to lay beside her. He curled against her side, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he slid his hand down, coaxing her thighs apart. "Relax, Christine," he whispered in her ear, trailing his hand lightly up her stomach, up over her ribs, past her bra. "Open," he said, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

Despite the uncertainty in her eyes she obeyed, her lips parting.

He slid his pointer finger into her mouth, humming deep in his throat. "Suck," he murmured. He moaned as her lips closed around his finger. She seemed encouraged by the sound that he made. He felt her tongue press flat against his finger. "Such a good girl," he rasped, pressing himself against her hip, desperate for any sort of friction. She hummed and he groaned, pressing his face into the hollow of her throat as his hips stuttered against her side. "A _vixen_ ," he reiterated breathlessly.

She opened her eyes, her head tilting as she tried to look at him. She was so beautiful, her lips wrapped around his finger, her flushed cheeks.

" _Stop_ ," he commanded. As soon as she released him he groaned, his lips crashing roughly against hers. This time when he nuzzled his hand between her thighs her legs fell open easily. She whimpered against his mouth as he pressed the very same finger inside of her. His thumb followed the curve of her, his palm going flat. Each thrust of his finger brushed against the sensitive bundle of her nerves and she whimpered, her hips jerking upward. He pulled back just the slightest bit, watching her face, feeling her trembling breath on his lips.

She reached up, her fingers clutching his sleeve tightly. "Erik…" she breathed, his name sounding like a plea.

"Christine," he answered warmly, his lips brushing gently against hers. He leaned up, hovering only the slightest bit over her so that he could stare down into her eyes. "Tell me how I make you feel," he whispered, searching her face.

She whimpered, arching her back as her eyes slid closed to his.

He sighed, brushing his lips over her forehead, down to her ear. "Christine," he said softly, brushing his lips against her earlobe. "Tell me how I make you feel."

Her fingers tightened in his sleeve, her eyes pressed closed tightly, and just when he resigned himself to the fact that she wouldn't answer him, she sighed. "Protected."

Erik wasn't sure what sort of answer he had expected but that certainly wasn't it. He pressed his face against the hollow of her throat, pulsing his finger against the spot that made her tremble. She gasped as he kissed along her jaw. "You're safe," he said softly. "As long as I am here, you are safe."

She whimpered as he curved his finger, brushing his thumb firmly over her clit.

"Come for me, Christine," he coaxed, dragging his thumb firmly against her. Her hips jolted against his hand and he pressed his lips against her collarbone, kissing her. She whimpered and, emboldened, he trailed his lips further down to her shoulder, opening his mouth and sucking a mark into her perfect skin. "Come for me," he repeated against her warm, slick skin.

She made a desperate sort of sound as he brushed his middle finger against her entrance and it was when he pressed it inside of her that she cried out, her nails biting his skin even through his sleeve. He felt her as she shuddered around him, her lips parting with a breathless gasp.

His fingers slid out of her, resting against her inner thigh, his thumb gently stroking her flushed skin as she caught her breath. She still clutched his arm tightly in her hand. "What are you thinking about?"

She shook her head and turned on her side, pulling his arm around her as she pressed herself against his chest. "I'm not."

The blissful way that she said it warmed him and he stroked his thumb against her bare back. "Is that a good thing?"

She nodded against him, her leg worming it's way between his as though she couldn't find a way to be close enough to him. The added pressure was torture, the feeling of her so close against him. She shifted her hips and his hand pulled her closer. "Erik?"

"What?" he rasped, trying his best not to be short with her. She didn't know any better.

Christine's hand rested against his side, trailing slowly down his soft button-up until she found the top of his jeans. She twisted one belt loop between her fingers. "You're miserable," she said softly.

He sighed, brushing his hand gently over her back. "I'm fine, Christine."

She pulled away, looking up at him, twisting the belt loop nervously between the pads of her fingers. "Tell me what to do," she offered seriously.

"You don't have to do anything, Christine," he reminded her, his hand trailing up her back and into her messed curls.

"I know," she said nervously, blushing as she looked down at neckline of his shirt. "I want to."

His hand slid from her hair down to her jaw and he tilted her chin up, searching her eyes. Then slowly he leaned forward, kissing her. "Come here."

His hands wrapped around her waist as he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She braced her hands against the pillow on each side of his head, leaning over him.

"You are beautiful," he said honestly, his hands tight on her hips. She blushed, looking down at his chest. There was something incredibly appealing about her nervousness; her shy, embarrassed reaction to the simplest of compliments. "Christine," he said gently, his thumbs drawing tight circles on her hips. He waited until her eyes met his and then he smiled in encouragement. "Kiss me."

She swallowed thickly, leaning forward and brushing her lips against his.

When she pulled away he sighed, one hand caressing her side. "Good girl," he whispered. "Now actually kiss me."

This time when her lips pressed to his it was with confidence, a false bravado built by his encouragement. His hand tangled in her hair out of instinct, pulling her hard against him. When she broke the kiss this time it was with red cheeks and a heaving chest.

"What do you want?" he asked softly, staring up at her.

One of her hands trailed over his shoulder, down to his chest, and she tugged wordlessly at the bottom hem of his shirt.

"Go ahead."

When she leaned back, hovering over him, his hand slid out of her hair and back down to her hip. He stared up at the purple mark he had left on her shoulder, peeking out at him from the cover of her messy curls. She stared at the silver chain that he wore around his neck.

Her hands slid hesitantly beneath the edges of his shirt, pushing it up. He helped her by raising his arms and pulling it over his head the rest of the way. She stared at him, her eyes roaming over the hair and light muscle on his chest. This time she wasn't so distracted. She had missed many tattoos that had been covered by the blankets that dreadful morning where she took off his mask. The initials over his heart, then the ones she hadn't seen before. There was bird, it looked like a phoenix on his right pectoral. There was a name entwined in the feathers of the wing; 'Luciana', the girl he was almost engaged to.

The next one was big block lettering that read 'LOS ZETAS'. This was is arching over his belly button and spanning over his torso. She thought that one must have been painful.

"You can touch me, Christine," he murmured. Her eyes were unsure when they met his and he sighed, catching one of her hands and pressing it to the center of his chest. "Touch me."

Her warm hand explored him hesitantly, running through the thick hair at the center of his chest. Her fingers followed the line of hair further and further down, pausing as the heel of her hand brushed against the cool metal of his belt buckle. She looked up at him nervously, freezing there.

He raised one hand, brushing her hair back so that he could see the purpled bruise on her shoulder. He brushed his fingers over it and to the side, hooking one finger in the strap of her bra, tugging it gently. "Take this off."

She leaned back, reaching her hands behind herself, working at the clasp.

He took the opportunity to reach down, undoing his belt and popping open the button of his jeans. He sighed in relief as he unzipped them. She slid her bra off, setting it beside her leg on the mattress. "Come here, Christine," he coaxed, tugging on her hips until she gave in, leaning over him. He surged up, catching her lips with his, his hand catching hers tightly. He pressed her palm flat against his chest, guiding it downward slowly. "Perfection," he whispered against her lips.

She pulled away, leaning back as she watched his hand over hers. He paused as the heel of her hand found the band of his black boxer briefs. There he released her, his hands resting against her hips again.

The first brush of her fingers was barely there, gentle and experimental. His hands tightened on her hips as she glanced up at him shyly. He swallowed thickly, shifting his grip on her. "Go ahead," he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder he would lose his careful control.

"Show me," she whispered with uncertainty.

With that he grasped her small hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. Then, teasingly, he dragged the tips of her fingers down his chest, following the line of hair on his stomach, slowing her pace when the trail of hair went into his waistband once more. He guided her fingers, leading her hand under the elastic band, pressing it against him. He exhaled raggedly, feeling her slim fingers wrap around his cock. He pressed his eyes closed, his fingers digging into her hips.

"Erik," she said softly, his name carried like a question on her voice.

He forced himself to open his eyes, to look up at her, at her uncertain eyes and perfect body hovering over him, at the purple mark that he left on her porcelain skin. He slid his hand down, pushing his boxers out of the way and wrapping his fingers loosely around hers. "You are perfect, Christine," he said harshly, guiding her hand along his shaft. Her face was flushed, her eyes trained fully on his as though she were afraid to look anywhere else. "It's okay… I'm not going to hurt you. You have my word, Christine," he said, trying to keep his control regardless of what her hands were doing to him. He softly grasped her jaw, guiding her to look down. He saw her lips part slightly, seeing _him_ for the first time. He twisted her hand, groaning at the sensation.

He set the pace, guiding her until she seemed to gain some semblance of confidence. His hand slid back to her hip and he closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her; her soft, warm hand. He moaned, his hips jerking of their own accord, his toes curling as he felt warmth pool deep in his stomach.

"You are such a good girl, Christine," he gasped, his fingers digging into her sides far harder than he was sure was comfortable. _Her_ perfect, innocent fingers wrapped so willingly around him, so eager to please him. It was too much.

" _Christine_ ," he groaned as he came, spilling over her fingers.

There was nothing but silence and stillness for a long while. He loosened his grip on her hips, drawing in a shaking breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes it was to find her staring down at her hand, still wrapped around his cock.

"Christine," he called softly. She blinked, lifting her eyes to his. Her cheeks still burned with embarrassment and he sighed, reaching across the bed and flipping the corner of the duvet down, finding the far edge of his bedsheets. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, gently coaxing it away from him and using the sheet to wipe away the mess. She watched him silently.

"Christine?" Erik asked, his stomach twisting. _Had he made her move too fast? Did he make her do this?_ Her gaze met his, and suddenly a shy smile appeared on her face. The relief he felt was palpable and he sighed, as Christine climbed off of him, kneeling next to him on the bed. He pulled up his boxers while tucking himself away. Erik sat up and kicked his pants the rest of the way off, joining the rest of their clothes on the floor as Christine crawled under the blankets, now looking truly content and tired. Her long lashes fluttering as her eyes slipped closed. "Christine, do you want to sleep?" He asked, his voice still raspy as he rolled back onto his side. He reached over to caress her cheek. He watched the way she tried to look behind him with curious eyes, no doubt trying to see the angel wing tattoos that took over his while back. "Christine…" he called again, gaining her attention.

"Mhmm. Now will you cuddle with me?" she mumbled sweetly.

Erik let out a low, warm chuckle. He maneuvered himself under the blankets with her, opening his arms to her and letting her attach herself to his side. One arm wrapped around his waist, the other pressed flat over his heart. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent and feeling an overwhelming sense of safety; warm and wanted. He _wanted_ her. He made her feel as though she were the only person in the world that truly mattered to him.

"Sleep, Christine." She no longer felt nervous as she slept. He was next to her, she was wrapped up tightly in his arms; warm and protected. She felt herself drift slowly away to sleep with the soothing drag of his fingers caressing the curve of her back.

He didn't sleep. The internal argument he now seemed to constantly have with himself returned. There was an odd, stabbing regret that always twisted deep in his gut in those moments afterwards, when his blood loosened and started flowing back to his brain, when she curled up against him so full of trust.

Her guard was down and it was his fault. _He_ had done this. _He_ had wiped her tears away, _he_ had kissed her. She was young, _so_ young that it was sometimes difficult to wrap his head around. So young and so easy to ply. The way that she reacted to even simple compliments twisted guilt like a knife in his heart.

She was insecure and lonely and, like the beast her father knew him to be, he swooped in and took full advantage of it.

It was difficult not to feel anger toward Gustave over the whole thing. Where was he? He was her _father_ , he was meant to _protect_ her. He had no idea what went on in the walls of his own house when he was gone - he had no idea what went on in Christine's life. He had no idea how near his daughter had come to being raped, no idea how much she was berated and beaten down by the boyfriend he talked so highly of. How terribly she _needed_ him.

Erik traced his hand soothingly along the curve of her spine, tucking her head under his chin as he held her close, eventually drifting off to sleep.


	14. Just the Three of Us

"Okay mom, fine I'll be home by eleven, or I could just stay over?" Meg said closing the door of her car, rolling her eyes at her mother's demands, "Yes mom, I'm at Christine's. No I'm not with a boy- Mom! I'm fine!" Meg snapped, walking up the driveway. She balanced her purse, phone, and coffee while opening the front door. She was way passed knocking at the front door of Christine's house, especially when Gustave was away.

"Yes, Mom, yes Gustave is away. No, no boys are over the house, I promise." Meg said walking into the living room, and setting down her bag. There was no sign of Christine being awake yet. Meg opened the fridge while her mom kept babbling on the phone, looking for food. Instead of the usual take out boxes, there was what looked like leftovers of actual home cooked meals in there. Meg's brows furrowed opening the corner of a container to see steak, and vegetables in one. In another there was fresh cut fruit.

"Yes, mom I'm still here," Meg answered, finding herself hungry. She pulled out the strawberries and began helping herself.

"Yes, I get it, my english grade will be better when the finals get graded okay? Mom, I'm gonna eat breakfast with Chris, I'll call you later. Okay, bye." Meg said hanging up and sighing heavily. She placed her phone down and slid it across the counter. She did not have the energy to deal with her mother today, all she wanted to do was hang out at the pool with Christine- Christine, where was she? She never slept this late.

Meg grabbed two berries for he journey to the bedroom, and began hiking up the stairs. She got into the hallways and began hearing breathy sighs and gasps. _What the hell?_ Meg thought to herself. She hurried to Christine's door, hoping she wasn't having a nightmare. She gently opened the door,

"Oh my fuck…" Meg gasped,

" _Erik, please,_ " on the bed in front of her was Christine straddling… Erik. Jesus Christ. She saw the way she grinded her hips against his hand, a breathless moan escaping her lips.

"Good girl, Christine," she heard Erik rasp,

Meg shifted her gaze to Erik, his pants and boxers shifted halfway down his legs, Christine's hand around his…. oh _gross!_

"What the fuck!" Meg shouted, throwing the door open. All movement came to a screeching halt, as both heads snapped towards the direction of the door, "Oh my fucking god-"

"Meg!" Christine shouted quickly climbing off of Erik,

"Shit!" Erik snapped, and she could hear the buckle of his belt being done up as he hoisted his boxers and pants up.

"Christine, Oh- what- him? No!" Meg shouted dropping the berries to the ground and covering her eyes.

"Meg, no, no, no, listen to me!" Christine pleaded grabbing a sheet off of her bed to cover herself, "Meg, please!" She grabbed at Megs wrists, uncovering her eyes,

"No! He's naked! No, I don't want to see an old man dick!" Meg said fighting Christine's grip.

Erik scoffed, "For Christ sakes-"

"Shut up Erik!" Christine yelled back towards the bed,

"I am not that old!"

"You're old enough to be her father!" Meg yelled back, uncovering her eyes. Christine stood there horrified, the idea of this happening never ever occurring in her mind.

"You don't think I know this? I can do math unlike some dumb blonde-"

"Erik, get out of the bedroom!" Christine shouted turning to him, "Let me handle this," she said firmly.

"Christine-"

"Erik." She said standing her ground, "Please," he growled bit and stood, glaring at Meg as he stormed out of the bedroom.

"Let me explain-"

"Please do! Christine, what the hell? You've been dating Raoul for literally four years, and you haven't even let him see you naked! Like, Raoul's an asshole, I get it but what the fuck? Erik? He's your fathers friend!" Christine only looked at Meg, letting her continue to yell and rant, "What the fuck? Are your daddy issues this bad?"

"No! Well- yes but no! Meg, he's good to me-"

"What, he fucks you when you want it?"

"Meg we haven't even had sex yet!"

"Yet? Jesus Christ Christine!" Meg yelled, walking over to sit in a chair in the corner of her room, "How- how long has this even been happening? He's only been here for like- what? A week or two?" Meg said, her face red with either embarrassment or anger.

"Meg, remember the night of the party?"

"Yes, oh god that night? Fuck, I knew that I should have stayed…"

"No, the night after. He made Raoul leave, Raoul was trying to- well, he stopped Raoul-"

"He stopped him so he could have you all to himself?" Meg scoffed, folding her arms over her chest.

"No! No, he cares about me Meg, he really does. He's been a perfect gentleman! He takes care of me and he listens and -"

"A perfect gentleman? Oh my god Christine, are you even listening to yourself? Do you care that little about yourself?"

Christine pulled the sheet tighter around herself, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring down at her knees.

"Chris, you're gonna get hurt," Meg offered softly. "That's it - that's all I'm worried about. You hardly know him and you're gonna get hurt. If you were gonna pick an older… well, an older guy you could've at least picked one that wasn't friends with your dad."

"I know I'm stupid," Christine breathed, clutching the sheet tightly. "You don't have to tell me that - I already know it."

Meg sat in the chair at Christine's desk, too grossed out to sit next to her on the bed. "Do you love him Chris?"

Christine bit her lip and shrugged one shoulder, peeking over at Meg. "I dunno," she sighed. "We haven't - we haven't really talked about it and I just -"

"I didn't ask if you talked about it," Meg said, looking Christine up and down. "I asked if you love him. That's always what you told Raoul - that you wanted to wait, that you wanted to _really_ know that you were in love. So do you love him?"

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" Christine asked softly. "Cuz I already do - I don't need you to guilt trip me either."

Meg crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. "I'm just trying to understand it - trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. You're the last person I ever expected something like this from."

"You can't tell Raoul," Christine whispered brokenly. "Please."

"I think he might _actually_ murder you," Meg said with a huff. "I'm not gonna be the one to tell him."

"Thank you," Christine breathed, relaxing the slightest bit.

Meg bit the inside of her lip. "Are you gonna leave him?"

"Erik or Raoul?" Christine asked seriously.

Meg laughed, only at the absurdity of such a question actually being serious. " _Yes_ , Christine. Either one of them."

Christine played with the edge of the blanket. "I don't know," she answered softly. "Maybe… I guess I'll have to one day but right now, I don't know Meg. Just promise me - promise me you won't tell my dad."

"I don't know if that's a promise I'm ready to make," Meg answered honestly.

"Meg, please, you can't -"

"I won't," Meg said, cutting off Christine's frantic plea. "Not right now but I swear to God, Christine - if he hurts you, if he ever raises a hand to you, if he even so much as _thinks_ of doing something to you that you don't want… I'll tell your dad. I can't not. This isn't gonna be like Raoul and I regret making that promise to you every day."

"He's not gonna hurt me, Meg," Christine said softly. "He really _does_ care about me."

"Then I guess you two have nothing to worry about," Meg said with a shrug. "Get dressed, Chris. I'm gonna go raid your fridge for breakfast."

Meg turned and pulled the door open only to come face to face with Erik. She sighed, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind her.

"Have you ever heard of privacy?" she huffed.

"Privacy?" he asked, raising his visible eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

"Oh, I'm sorry that there was no _sock on the door_ ," Meg grumbled. "You aren't going back in there - go wash your hands."

"My shirt is in there," he pointed out.

"I'm sure you have plenty more. You can get it later - when I'm far, far away from here and don't have to think about this. Seriously, go wash your hands."

He blinked at her twice, lifting his hand and sticking the two fingers that had been in Christine into his mouth. He sucked them slowly, running his tongue between them as he hummed.

"You are fucking disgusting," Meg gagged. "Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

He popped the fingers out of his mouth, rubbing them against his pant leg. "I'm afraid that isn't available in a condensed list," he said dryly.

The door swung open and Christine stepped into the hallway between them dressed in a baggy hoodie and pink basketball shorts. "Can you two please not bicker? For me?" she asked, holding Erik's shirt out to him.

He took the shirt, pulling the v neck over his head. "That's up to her at this point," Erik said, looking pointedly at Meg. "What do you think? Truce?"

He held his hand out like he was going to shake hers and Meg glared at it. "I'm not touching that," she huffed. "If you wash your hands maybe we can call a truce."

"Erik, go wash your hands. Please," Christine huffed, taking Meg's arm. "We'll be down in the kitchen."

Christine practically pulled Meg down the stairs before he could argue with her. "You wash your hands too," Meg huffed. "You don't know where he's been."

Christine rolled her eyes, turning on the water in the kitchen sink. "I'm _pretty_ sure I know where he's been," she said, running her hands under the water and squirting soap into her palm from the dispenser.

"Not helping, Chris," Meg grumbled, opening the refrigerator and digging through the tupperware full of fresh food that had mysteriously replaced the stacks of take-out boxes. "You turning into a chef or something?"

"What?" Christine glanced over, turning off the water and shaking her hands over the sink. "Oh. No, Erik's been cooking a lot lately. He says the takeout isn't healthy - me cook. You're funny Meg. I burned microwave oatmeal two days ago."

Meg lifted up a container full of cut fruit. "So he comes over here every night and cooks you dinner?"

"Yeah," Christine said, running the kitchen towel thoughtfully over her hands. "He usually makes breakfast too… I did help with the fruit though."

"Huh," Meg said, pushing the door closed and popping the lid off of the bowl of fruit. She popped a piece of watermelon into her mouth, setting the bowl on the kitchen island.

Christine leaned over, stealing a strawberry from the bowl. "He's teaching me to drive too," she said quietly.

"What?" Meg asked, blinking in surprise. "Why?"

Christine sighed, looking over her shoulder before she rolled her sleeve up, showing Meg the ring of bruises Raoul had left on her arm. "He was furious when he saw it."

"Chris, what happened?" Meg asked, reaching for her arm.

Christine yanked the sleeve back down before Meg could touch her. "Raoul and I - it was just a little argument but it happened and Erik said - well, he says that I need to be independent. That even if I never drive a car again I should know _how_ to so that I don't have to rely on Raoul."

"He's right," Meg said, finding another piece of watermelon in the bowl. "I've been telling you that for a while now."

"I know I just - I'm just saying, he _does_ care about me Meg," Christine sighed, leaning against the counter. "I know it might be hard to believe but he really is good to me."

When Erik strode into the kitchen he stood awkwardly, glancing between the two girls as if he couldn't decide whether he was allowed to go to Christine or whether he should continue straight out of the back door and into the guest house. He held his hand up, his gaze fixed on Meg. "I have thoroughly scrubbed my hands," he said dryly. "Would you like to smell them to be sure, Ms. Giry?"

"Knock it off, Erik," Christine huffed. "Please."

She reached her hand out toward him and something like relief passed through his eyes. He made his way to her, taking her hand in his and looking at Meg. "Sorry," he huffed in a half hearted apology.

"So she hasn't crashed your car yet?" Meg asked, ignoring his almost painful sounding apology.

"She is a remarkably…" he glanced down at Christine and the way that she glared at him. "She is a remarkably average driver. I've only feared for my life twice and I think the car might actually survive the lessons."

"Chris, I love you but you are not touching my car."

Christine smiled slightly, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Meg."

An awkward silence came through the kitchen none of them sure what to say next.

Meg finally sighed, "Chris I wanna hang out at the pool," she said firmly, "it _was_ going to be a girls but since I obviously have to be nice, Erik I guess I have to include you too." Meg huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Shit, thanks for the lovely invitation, Giry. I am afraid I don't have a suit-"

"Borrow one of dad's." Christine blurted out, "He has some just plain black ones, I think…" she said blushing.

"...I have some things to attend to, maybe later." Erik grumbled watching the way Christine looked at him with puppy-dog eyes.

"Please?"

* * *

He was a sucker, he knew that much. A total pushover when it came to Christine because here he was pulling on a pair of swim shorts that belonged to Gustave. She had lied, there wasn't a plain pair of them. All of them had flowers, stripes, or some other ridiculous pattern.

The ones he decided on were black with red island flowers on them…

"I better be getting another handjob for this shit…" he grumbled to himself as he glanced at himself in the mirror.

Brooding and grumbling he walked out to the pool deck where both girls we already out there. He stopped in his tracks as he looked at Christine…

Her curls tossed up in a messy bun, and a blue bikini that left little to the imagination.

"Jesus, you're like a walking canvas huh?" Meg said as she eyed him.

Erik rolled his eyes at the comment, retreating to the shade under the cabana on the other side of the pool. He heard Christine soft shush Meg but obviously it did nothing, "What the fuck is on your leg?" Meg hollered just at Erik sprawled out on a pool chair and shut his eyes in attempt to block out the Giry girl.

"Meg-"

"He's got a naked bitch on his leg!" He heard light footsteps approach and he saw Meg standing there with her mouth agape.

"Can I help you?" He grumbled, pulling his pack of cigarettes from the suit pocket. He lit one, taking a slow drag as he looked Meg up and down absent mindedly.

"Is that a crack pipe?" Meg asked taking off her sunglasses and looking at the tattoo that too up most of his left calf. "Who-"

"A mistake, miss Giry. I assure you. Someone from my past, I never have had the inclination to scar my skin by getting it removed." He said as Meg scoffed, "Are you going to continue to stare or shall I remove myself from the pool."

"Actually yeah-"

"Meg, shut up and get in the pool!" Christine screeched, stomping her foot like a small child and making Erik smirk. He continued to puff on the cigarette while looking down at the tattoo he sometimes forgot existed due to his lack of shorts wearing. Meg huffed and turned on her heel towards the end of the pool where Christine stood. Erik groaned and put out his cigarette and he shifted to lay down as he studied the tattoo more.

Meg was right, there was indeed a naked bitch of a woman on his leg. She was kneeling and between her hands was a pipe.

Camila.

* * *

**Mexico**

Camila was beautiful. It was one of the few kind things that Erik could honestly say about her. Her skin was a stunning caramel color, her complexion was perfection. There wasn't a single blemish that could be pointed out - her lips were full and her eyes were dark, her waist was slim and her breasts and ass were perfectly shaped. There wasn't a single flaw that could be deciphered from the mere sight of her.

Her voice was warm and gentle, downright soothing when it came down to it. She radiated confidence; she knew exactly what it was that she wanted and she knew what to do to get it.

Erik was drawn to her like a moth to flame.

The first time he met her was when she was on shift at the cantina. She poured each of his drinks with an extra shot.

"Working girls?" Jefe had asked when Erik joined him and his brother Jose at their regular table. "They are overrated, hombre. Are the whores not enough for you?"

"I have no idea what you're on about, Jefe," Erik said, sipping his drink as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her smile was bright as she whispered to the girl she worked with, both glancing over toward him.

"Has my gift not pleased you?"

Erik's eyes snapped back to Jefe. "Of course she has," he said flippantly, taking a sip of his drink in an attempt to cover the uncomfortable twitch of his lips that came every time he was forced to allude to Luciana that way. "We aren't married, Jefe… or am I not a free man?"

"Free," Jose said with a half-hearted laugh.

Jefe looked at Jose sharply and Jose shrugged his shoulders, taking a gulp of his own drink.

"You are, of course, free," Jefe said, turning his head to get a better look at Camila. His eyes traced over as much of her as they could before he looked back at Erik. "You have good taste, at least. If you want it, have it hombre."

—

Life sometimes seemed to move at half-speed when Erik was drunk. It was appreciated in moments like this - it gave him the time to allow himself to appraise Camila as she approached him; her perfect, long legs and shapely hips, the way that she sauntered gracefully toward him, the far-too-short cut of her jean shorts and too tight top, the gentle way that her hand rested against his shoulder as she leaned down.

"You are staring at me, señor," she murmured into his ear.

There was something halfway alluring about the reckless confidence she exuded. "Am I?" he asked evenly, running his forefinger along the rim of his glass.

"Si, señor," she answered, her clean and trimmed nails tracing along the seam of his sleeve. "I think that maybe there is something you would like to tell me."

"Maybe," Erik said, looking over at Jose meaningfully. Jose raised his eyebrow and, seeming to take the hint, he dropped a few bills on the table and stood.

"I should get home," Jose said. " _Behave_ , hombre."

Erik only rolled his eyes, throwing his drink back as his keeper, babysitter, walked away.

"Señor?" she asked impatiently.

"It depends," he answered, setting his glass on the edge of the table. He pushed it away slowly with the tips of his fingers. "Do you know who I am?"

Her laugh was a huff of air against his warm skin. "Who does not, señor?"

"Fair answer," Erik mumbled, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me, why are you approaching me? You know who I am, what I am."

"Your eyes," she said, finally leaning back so that he could look at her. "You are not like the men here - I know the rumors."

He pushed away from the table. "The rumors," he repeated flatly. "There certainly are many of those. What is it, exactly, that you're willing to do for me?"

Without any invitation she slid into his lap, her arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders. "That depends, señor," she said with a smirk. "What is it you want? Are you looking for a night or an affair?"

"An affair?" he asked in confusion.

She hummed. "Si. Everyone knows that you are practically married to the little one."

She dragged her hips tantalizingly against him and one of his hands curled tightly around her waist. When he looked up into her eyes there was a smug self-satisfaction there. His free hand tangled in her hair and he yanked her down, kissing her deeply, roughly, and he broke it by tugging her head back by her hair. "Do not talk about her," he growled, "and perhaps we will see how you do for a night first."

—-

"I hear it is an honor," she said, closing the weak wooden door of her bedroom behind them, "to bed the àngel de la muerte."

"Erik," he said, setting the bottle of tequila he had snagged from the bar beside his feet on the uneven wooden floor. "That is my name."

"Erik," she echoed, giving the r of his name an over exaggerated roll.

He hummed deep in his throat, resting his palms on each side of the door beside her head as he leaned close to her.

"I am Camila," she said quietly.

He only leaned down, pressing his lips against hers, sliding one hand carefully down the door and hooking his thumb under the edge of her jaw. Her lips parted for him without much prodding at all and he sighed into her mouth as he pulled away. "An honor? How so," he asked as he tugged her shirt up.

She lifted her arms and when she was free of her shirt her hands found his broad shoulders. "You are not selfish like other men," she answered, trailing one finger up the back of his neck, her nail brushing against his skin. "You could have any woman you wished."

Her body was perfection. He had half expected to find himself disappointed by the time he managed to get her bra off. He found that he was anything but. He ran his hand over her side, in and up over her flat stomach and upward still until he could cup her admittedly large and perky breast in his palm. He trailed his thumb slowly over the tip of her nipple. "I enjoy beautiful women," he said eventually.

"Is that what you think I am?" she asked softly.

He only glanced at her before he bent, closing his lips around her her perfectly shaped nipple. She sighed, her head falling back against the door. He felt the gentle pressure of her nails against his scalp as he ran traced her nipple with his tongue. His other hand came up and he pulled and rolled her neglected nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

His free hand found the button of her jean shorts and made quick work of it, yanking the zipper down impatiently. His finger hooked into the band of her underwear and he yanked both down together. When he slipped his finger between her legs he found her wet and warm and he pulled away from her nipple with a pop, standing back to his full height as he found her clit with the pad of his finger.

"I am not like other men," he agreed as he watched her eyes slip closed. He rolled her clit gently, watching the way her breath quickened. "I enjoy giving pleasure too, Camila."

She blinked her eyes open and her hands trailed back over his shoulders, her fingers shakily working open the buttons of his shirt. Her head jerked back and she gasped as he slid his finger back further, teasing along the edge of her slowly before he pressed it gently inside of her. One knuckle, two knuckles and she finally got the last button undone. Her shaking hands parted the edges of his shirt as he pulsed his finger gently inside of her.

She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and he took half a step back, slipping his finger out of her as he let it fall to the floor. He caught her jaw in his hand and slipped the finger that had been inside of her between her parted lips.

"Tell me how you taste, Camila," he murmured, leaning close against her.

* * *

**Present**

"Oh shit, that's gonna fucking hurt."

"Erik, wake up."

"He looks like a fuckin lobster."

"Meg-"

"Oh come on, where's the fucking lie?"

A moment of silence

"Oh gross, does he have a boner?"

"Meg!"

Erik squinted his eyes open to both girls looking at him. Furrowing his brows he blinked twice, "What-" then he looked down at his stomach. Bright fucking red.

"Shit…"


	15. Just The Beginning

Meg left around eight, leaving with a parting death stare at Erik who was laid out on the couch wincing in pain from his sunburn. Christine felt bad, she hadn't paid him any attention while he was sound asleep and the sun shifted- sealing Erik's red, itchy stinging fate for the next few days. He had just looked so exhausted recently that she saw no harm in it.

"How's it feeling?" she asked going to sit by his head at the end of the couch. She noticed the red irritation on the unmasked half of his face and how uncomfortable it looked.

"Hurts like hell…" he grumbled, staring up at the ceiling.

"Meg's mom brought me aloe one time after this happened to me while dad was away. Want me to grab it for you?" she asked, her eyes scanning over his sleeve of tattoos.

"Mm…" he hummed out in appreciation feeling the pain of simply speaking. Christine left his side to run upstairs to the bathroom and when she returned it was with a bottle of green gel.

"Do you want me to do it? Or-"

"You do it, I can hardly move my arms, sweetheart." he groaned, shifting over on the couch to make room for her.

She sat next to him and pured the cool liquid onto her hands, "Please tell me if I hurt-"

"You won't, I've experienced far worse than a sunburn on a factor of pain." The second her skin touched his chest he winced and she flinched back.

"Erik-"

"Sorry, sorry. Just- just do it." he said between clenched teeth. She rolled her eyes and slowly began giving him some relief.

Erik sat there in silence trying to keep his complaints and winces to himself until he opened his eyes to look at Christine applying more aloe.

He began to quietly snicker to himself.

"What?" She asked placing her hand on his stomach.

"Y'know under other circumstances this would be highly erotic…"

Christine's eyes widened with discomfort and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "Why do you say things like that?" she asked meekly.

"Cause I like the way your cheeks turn all red when you're embarrassed or shy about something. Its cute." he said as she switched her position to reach his shoulders.

"You're mean…" she said with a hint of a smile in her tone.

"I am many things, mean is only true sometimes." he chuckled. He looked back at her and met the bright blue eyes looking back at him.

"I only have your face left- and also if you- I mean. Sorry-" she said getting herself all tongue tied, "The mask just looks uncomfortable with the burn. I really don't mind if you take it off, Erik. It doesn't-"

"Its tolerable." he sighed.

"Erik, please. I don't mind and I just- I don't want you to feel like you have to hide from me." she said softly.

It was almost odd, this sudden change in Christine for the moment.

"What brought that on?"

She shrugged, "I kinda want to prove Meg wrong. She thinks you're probably using me and stuff and I hardly know you. I just- I wanna know you more. I hate it that you wear it around the house when you don't have to."

Erik laid there for moment in contemplation. She wouldn't lie to him, he didn't believe there was a inch of her capable of lying.

"You're sure?" he asked looking up at her with bits of uncertainty. Camila had said the same thing long ago but whenever they would fight and scream at each other that was the first weakness of his that she went for. Christine was the polar opposite of Camila in everyway, he had to remind himself of that.

"Yes, Erik." she said with a slight smile.

When he reached up and pried the mask away from his face Christine's gentle smile never faltered as he had a small expectancy for it to. She just simply brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and smiled sweetly at him.

It was the small moments like these that reminded Erik of why exactly he had fallen so hard and so fast for her. Her gentle smile and the tender way she seemed to touch him.

Christine finally broke the silence in the room, "I am sorry about Meg, she's just very protective of me." Christine said through a yawn as she finished with the aloe and set it aside.

"She's a good friend, she just cares. I took no offense by it." He huffed out in a laugh thinking about the messy morning they all had.

"Yeah, she's great. I don't know what I would do without her." Christine sighed. She looked at the way the broken side of his face moved when he spoke. She could practically see the muscles of his jaw move with the skin graph over it. All the different textures and indents on the skin.

"Christine…. You don't believe that I'm using you, correct?" Erik asked, reaching up without wincing to gently grasp her chin.

"Mhm." she said very softly.

A silence fell between the two of them before Erik began to form a sentence,

"Christine I-"

"Prom is this week…" she whispered softly as her fingers fiddled with a lock of his hair, not hearing him speak.

"... and so it is." He said moving on with her train of thought and away from his own confusing emotions. He watched the way her eyes changed, an anxious look to them.

"Raoul-"

"Dance with Meg, she will look after you. Ignore him." He said firmly, moving himself to sit back against the couch. "He doesn't down you…" _I do…_

"Yeah… I guess."

"Enjoy your time. You only have one prom, think of it as the last time you ever have to be unhappy with him."

"The last time?"

"That is your choice."


	16. I Mean It

Christine hummed.

It was something that he had grown used to. Every mundane task was accompanied by a melody. Sometimes she sang under her breath. Erik wasn't sure that she was even aware when she did it.

He wondered if it was a nervous habit. Quiet always made her anxious - it was something that he had picked up on easily. She spent so much of her time alone that she filled it with whatever she could, even if it had to be her own voice. But she hummed and there was something incredibly soothing about it.

It made it easy to find her at the very least and if he was to be completely honest, he enjoyed it. She had a sweet, calm voice that contrasted completely with the flurry of uneasy thoughts and nervous energy that she was made up of.

He found her in the bathroom fighting with a hair straightener. When she caught his eye in the mirror the humming stopped and she huffed.

"This is ridiculous," she complained, two fingers holding up a bit of her half-flattened curls as though she had to point out what it was she was referring to. "My stupid hair never cooperates."

"I _like_ your stupid hair," he murmured, eyes sweeping over her dress.

She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the smile that played on her lips and pulling the straightener over the same clump of hair again, huffing in frustration. " _Seriously_."

He slid into the narrow bathroom behind her, staring at their image in the mirror. They made a strangely pretty picture despite his mask. He stared at the severe line of his jaw; his own hardened features were such a contrast to hers. She was soft and gentle where he was harsh and mean. The top of her head didn't even quite reach his shoulder. "You're being impatient," he said. "Be patient. It isn't your hair's fault."

"When did you become a beauty guru?" she grumbled.

When his hand wrapped around her waist and he yanked her against him she squeaked in surprise. "Let me help you."

"You're _distracting_ me," she complained.

Two fingers swept the half-straightened hair from her shoulder and he bent down, brushing his lips against her pale throat. How tempting it was to leave a mark beneath his lips - let the damned boy find it. Maybe he would finally step out of the picture. "Are you complaining?" he asked, looking into her eyes through the mirror. He wouldn't leave a mark - one day, maybe, but not today. He wouldn't ruin her prom that way.

She shivered against him. "No," she breathed. And then, as if she caught herself, she sighed. "Not under normal circumstances. I'm already running late - Raoul is going to be furious with me."

Erik sighed, standing back up and prying the straightener out of her hand. "I don't know why you care what the boy thinks," he commented as he slowly ran the flat iron over the same patch of hair she had been fighting with.

"I just don't want to fight," she admitted, leaning forward against the counter to give him room as he continued the painfully slow process of straightening her wild hair.

Erik was not _completely_ clueless when it came to women. He had many girlfriends over the years - pretty girls and ugly girls, all sorts of body types, all sorts of hair, some for weeks and a few of the rare ones for months. He was bound to pick up a few beauty-centric tips somewhere along the line. "You can't live your entire life avoiding conflict, Christine."

"I've done a pretty good job of it so far," she argued.

He continued on his slow progress on her thick hair, glancing up at her in the mirror every so often. Each time she caught his eye, smiling shyly. He worked in silence for a long while until he made it just over halfway around her head. "You're coming home tonight."

"Where else would I go?" she asked softly. It hadn't been a question - she seemed to recognize that too.

He continued in silence, staring at her curls. It was an oddly satisfying thing to watch them flatten under his careful attention. She had gained nearly two inches of hair simply by pulling it straight.

When the last curl was straightened he leaned against her, setting the flat iron on the counter and pressing the pads of his fingers to the edges of her jaw, tilting her head back against his chest so that he could look into her eyes. His pinky trailed down, resting just over her pulse.

"You will dance with him," he said, "and you will come home to me."

"Erik," she breathed.

He simply shook his head, looking down at her seriously. "You will dance with him and you will come home to me," he repeated. "Where you belong."

"I think -"

"That you are mine," he said, feeling her heart begin to thrum under the light pressure of his pinky. One hand slid down, tugging at the thin strap of her dress. "That you will go to your prom, you will enjoy yourself, enjoy your boy, but when you are undressed tonight it will be by me."

Her lips parted, that now-familiar hazy look began to cloud her eyes. He paused, waiting for any response, but her only answer was silence.

"You are mine," he murmured. "You don't even try to deny it anymore."

The breath that she took was a shaky thing. "I'm yours," she whispered, the words trembling and uncertain. He looked back at the mirror as he reached into his pants pocket, pulling out the silver chain with with the music charm - a simple e note. Fitting, subtle enough. When he wrapped the chain gently around her neck and clasped it she sighed, her fingers brushing against the charm. "Erik…"

When he leaned over and claimed her mouth she responded easily, her lips parting with only the gentlest of prodding. His hand slid under her chin, holding her firmly in place and when they separated he was fairly certain he took her breath with him. "You are," he said firmly. "You would never let that boy touch you the way that I do - never give yourself over to him so easily. You know that he could never make you feel half as good as I do. You would never be such a good girl for him, would you?"

"Erik, please," she whimpered, leaning heavily into his chest.

"Later," he answered warmly. "When you come home, when you find your way into my bed." His hand trailed down, cupping her breast over the dress she wore. "When you are a good girl and let me undress you, let me touch you… you won't tell me no, will you?"

"No," she answered softly. "I won't."

"Of course you won't," he murmured. "I will be good to you and so gentle. I will worship you like that boy never could. When you give yourself to me you will forget all about him; I have always taken such good care of you."

There was a momentary flicker of surprised understanding that passed through her eyes, overtaken by something strangely calm. Her clumsy hand found the back of his neck, her fingers tugging gently at the hair there. It reminded him so remarkably of that first night; it was the very same look on her face, the very same warm, needy contentment.

"Later," he said again in answer to her prodding, leaning just a bit closer to her. "If you kiss me now I may be tempted to take you right here against this counter - that is hardly romantic. And as you said, your boy would be furious if you were late."

The rush of cold when he pulled himself away from her was overwhelming. He nearly had to force himself to turn on his heel and walk away from her.

* * *

Erik and Christine sat in silence as he drove towards the de Chagny mansion by the coast. His mind couldn't help but wander to every outcome of tonight. Some were fantasies, others were tragedies.

"Erik?"

"Hm?" He replied looking over to the girl who now looked like an elegant woman on his right side.

"You- you'll pick me up tonight, right?" She asked nervously, her fingers fiddling with the ruffles of her dress.

"All you have to do is call, I will be right there when you do." Christine nodded, worrying her lip. Erik reached over and gently grasped her hand and entwining their fingers, "Prom is meant to be enjoyed, not dreaded. Dance with Meg and your other friends- I am sure the boy can find other means of entertaining himself." He grumbled thinking back to his own prom and asking Gustave repeatedly if he really did have to bring the same girl home as he brought with him… the answer was a smack to the back of the head.

"Take a left up there…" Christine murmured releasing a shaking breath. Erik flicked on his indicator and pulled onto the the street lined with gardens and flowered bushes. All the way at the end of the street sat a iron gate where a man stood almost sending a shiver down Erik's spine as to how similar the scene was compared to his old 'home'...

* * *

**Mexico 17 Years Ago**

Erik could remember the day he entered the iron gates that were the entrance to Los Zetas territory, the entrance to a new way of life. Sitting in the back of a black SUV, tinted window, men in dark suits sat in the drivers and passengers seats. They had picked him up from the airport telling him to get in the car and make himself comfortable, it was going to be a long drive. It was. Four hours, driving into the desert, seeing farms, small towns, until Erik could see the poverty stricken area that began Los Zetas territory.

It was something out of a movie, cheap housing, ruined store fronts, run down cantinas, Erik didn't understand why this was worth protecting. Women and children roamed the streets. All of them backing as far away from the car as possible, a look of sheer terror in their eyes.

"What is this place?" Erik asked softly, watching as a man on the street walked towards a girl no older than fifteen and wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close before dragging her into an alleyway.

"Hell." One of the men muttered, his partner chuckling. "Nobody from here will be bothering you, Jefe had made sure of that from the location of your home."

"Where is my home?" Erik asked softly, looking at these rows of houses where dirty people emerged.

"Beyond these gates." Still a mile away, Erik could see iron walls in front of him. The silver metal reflecting a glare from the scorching Mexican sun. As they got closer, Erik's heart beat faster and faster.

Men stood on the walls, behind layers of barbed wire. The walls stretched far out of his vision into the desert. It was protection of a small city. The man in drivers seat rolled down his window as guard approached. They spoke in hushed tones, both glancing back at Erik.

"Abrelo!" The man shouted in Spanish, looking back towards the gates. The gates slid open and armed men appeared, pointing automatic machine guns at the car. Erik's heart flew into his throat. _What am I doing here?_ He thought to himself as the pushed forwards towards the shooters. As the car got closer, the men standing stepped aside. They were protecting anyone threatening to come inside.

Inside was a small city indeed, but it was not what Erik expected. It was beautiful, colorful homes and storefronts lining the streets. Families, mostly women and children walked freely. There was no fear in their eyes as there was on the outside of the gates. The separation of the elite and expendable people was obvious.

Children waved at the cars, women bowed their heads in respect to a car owned by El Jefe that was transporting precious cargo. Cargo that would make him millions in the construction of tunnels what would traffic drugs, weapons, and women into and from America under the border of Mexico.

"You have women and children here?" Erik asked, surprised that any man would want his family anywhere near something dangerous like the cartel.

"Of course, family is the Los Zetas, Los Zetas es familia. They are well protected, well taken care of as long as they stay in the graces of Jefe." The man in the passenger's seat explained as they drove deeper into the city.

"And if they don't?" Erik was only answered with silence, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They drove in silence, deeper still, churches and graveyards now added to the scenery. Too many graveyards.

"Senor, Jefe has instructed us to bring you to his home so he can give you a proper greeting."

* * *

"Name?"

Erik continued to stare at the iron gates.

"Sir-"

"De Chagny. Raoul de Chagny." Christine quickly interjected noticing Erik's lack of response and obscure trace.

The guard returned to the small guard house to the left of the gate, Erik turned is head to see the man pick up a phone and dial a number.

"Hi, sorry to disturb you Mr de Chagny, there is a man and a young girl here stating they are here for your son- yes sir. Very well sir, sorry for the disturbance." And the phone was hung up as the gates began to open.

They drove deep into the gated community passing houses that just seemed to grow larger and larger, each house looking no different than the last until they took a final turn.

"That last one on the right." Christine said pointing to a sky blue mansion with a marble fountain in the front of the yard. In the front yard stood the youngest de Chagny with a waif of a woman next to him in a plain blue dress. "That's Raoul's mom…" Christine said as they pulled into the circular driveway. As they pulled closer Erik could practically see the soulless expression on the woman's face. "She's real nice but Raoul says she takes a lot of pills and doesn't really know what's happening most of the time. He isn't very nice to her." He watched the way Mrs De Chagny attempted to adjust her sons tie only to be swatted at and have her wrist grabbed and pushed away from him. As it happened Erik watched the way Christine looked away from the scene with obvious dread in her eyes.

Erik put the car into park as Raoul sneered at the car while he stood at the top of the stairs leading to the front door. He made no move to come and open the door for Christine.

"I'll see you tonight I guess…" Christine whispered, her cheeks flushed but not from the make up.

"Make him come open the door for you… do not get out yet." Erik almost growled as he stared at the boy through the tinted glass of his passenger side window. He watch was the boy fiddled with the cuff links on his navy suit.

"Erik-"

Erik hastily opened the door of the car and slid himself out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. As he made his way around the car the front door of the house opened to show a spitting image of Raoul- his father Erik inferred. The icy eyes that met Erik's made his stomach churn…

"You must be Erik…" The man said as he stuck his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants while Erik made his way around the car to open the door of the car for Christine.

"Gustave has told me all about you… as has my son." Mr De Chagny said with a sneer, "So kind of you to take care of our darling Christine while Gustave travels."

"She is more than capable of taking care of herself, I am merely there if anything were to happen." _As in your son raping her._ Erik offered a hand as Christine held the hem of her dress.

"Well, Gustave speaks highly of you."

Even his voice set Erik on edge, he simply wanted to usher Christine back into the car and take her home- away from this family and their intentions. His aura brought back even more painful memories for Erik, thoughts of Jefe.

* * *

Erik could never forget the first time he met Ricardo Ruiz, Jefe to Los Zetas Cartel.

The golden gates that guarded his palace of a home. The whole exterior was white, with gold detailing. The white pillars at the front reminded Erik of the pantheon. It was a home out of a dream, an architect's dream. He was ushered into the house, two men walking on either side of him. Maids and guards roamed, the maids lowering their heads as Erik walked by. Finally at a double or entrance, the doors swinging open to show the man who had sat in the office that was once his fathers three weeks ago and pitched his plans. An idea that Erik knew in the back of his mind he was a dead man if he didn't accept.

Jefe sat in a leather office chair, his black eyes trained on Erik from the second the doors opened. Black eyes that Erik would never forget, black eyes that would haunt his nightmares till the day he died. The eyes belonging to a kingpin, a man who was name was on most wanted lists in America for lending a hand in the drug epidemic like Jefe's father before him.

A girl sat on his lap, a skimpy dress on that exposed far too much to Erik's gaze than what was proper. He didn't mind.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up, Erik." He chuckled, his voice was raspy and low. A smile that belonged to a snake twisted his lips, his eyes narrowing at Erik. Erik noticed how he was dressed, a black suit with a deep marrow button down that was pressed. Golden cufflinks, and a golden chain around his neck with a charm tucked into his shirt. His hands were tattooed, a scorpion on his right hand where the claws were angled to be on his thumb and index finger. The stinger pointed so if his hand was around a person's neck, if it were a real scorpion they could easily poison the victim.

"Took sometime to shutdown a multimillion dollar company. I had to do it right, for my father-"

"Was a good honest man, well, let be honest with ourselves and not start off by lying to each other, you are not your father amigo." Jefe huffed out in a laugh. Erik's jaw tightened, looking at this man that made every fiber of his brain scream not to trust him. Jefe noticed the untrustful way Erik looked at him, "However, you are smarter." He said, sending ego boosts into a young, broken, man's mind. "Did you enjoy the views of my city?" Jefe asked, watching Erik very closely.

"It's something out of a movie." Erik said, looking around the study. A painting of a beautiful women and Jefe was over his desk, two lights on either side of it.

"It needs work, I am sure you would be up for the challenge." Jefe said with a raised brow. Erik merely nodded, "Good." Jefe looked up at the girl on his lap, "Sofia, please show him to his new home, as well as his vehicle. Then a tour, and a taste of what we can _offer_ him." Jefe said lowly.

"Si, Jefe." She said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek before she stood and walked towards Erik with hips swaying. Erik swallowed hard,

"How's your Spanish?" Jefe asked from the desk, leaning forwards and tenting his hands.

Erik shrugged, "Decent. My french is better," he said, which earned a chuckle from Jefe.

"Sofia and Jose will catch you up to speed. You'll need it." Jefe said reaching into his breast pocket for a silver case that held hand rolled cigarettes.

"Jose?" Erik asked as Jefe lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

He exhaled through his nostrils, "Mi hermano, he will be making sure you are well taken care of." Jefe informed, "You will be coming back here tomorrow to have selections of weaponry and clothing-"

"Weaponry? I- Well, I thought I was just here to build, not- well, I-l."

Jefe chuckled, "We'll see."

Erik's eyes widened at the statement, "Wait-"

"Sofia, he's all yours." Jefe said nodding to the guards that escorted Erik in to show him out of the office. Erik let himself be ushered out, turning to come face to face with deep brown eyes, his tour guide for the rest of the day.


	17. The Angel of Death

"Meg, I'm gonna run to the bathroom." Christine said breathlessly to her best friend over the loud music echoing through the dance hall. Meg only nodded and continued dancing around the floor.

Christine wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead. Erik was certainly right, she didn't need to even see Raoul at the dance, she needed to walk in on his arm and that was it. She hadn't seen him in a few hours.

As she walked towards the the hallway where the bathrooms were she saw a sight she never wanted to admit that she knew was happening. There stood Raoul and Carly, making out- no practically swallowing each other. She listened to the soft gasps and sighs coming from Carly as Raoul's hand roamed her backside. Christine quickly covered her mouth but it wasn't enough,

Raoul pulled away and looked up, "Christine-"

Christine only shook her head and began to dash towards the crowds of people to find her way to the exit of the building. As she ran she pulled out her phone from her clutch she frantically texted Erik.

"Lotte!" She heard Raoul yell over the music,

_Please come get me now!_ She texted, looking for Meg in the sea of people. Finally seeing the small blonde dancing with a guy, Christine grabbed Meg's wrist and began dragging her along.

"Chris whats-"

"Raoul- Carly, they-"

"Christine, wait!" Raoul yelled at her, but she kept running to the door.

Once they were outside Christine could finally breathe and she felt tears pricking at her eyes, especially when Meg wrapped her arms around her shoulders. It was this overwhelming feeling of hurt but in the back of her head something seemed to scream freedom.

"Lotte-"

"Fuck off Raoul!" Meg roared with the strength of a tiger protecting her friend.

"Giry, go inside. This is none of your concern!' Raoul shouted back and Christine couldn't dare look him in the eye. "Lotte, let me make it up to you. I got us a nice hotel room tonight and I planned a night just for-"

"No!" Christine yelled, shocking herself more than anyone else, "You cheated! You did this! Go away Raoul, its over!" Just as Christine began to take a few steps away from Raoul she felt a strong grip around her wrist and then the roar of an engine came from down the road of the country club. Christine had never felt so relieved to see a black Audi.

Erik pulled not even a foot away from the curb and swiftly got out of the car, "Don't touch her!" He roared as he slammed his own car door shut.

"Who the fuck are you to say what I can and can't do!" Raoul said attempting to pull Christine back into his arms. Erik instead took a step forward, "Touch me again and I'll have you in jail by tomorrow." Raoul said his voice seething with anger. However he didn't see the small blonde behind him as she swiftly kicked him in the back of the knee and sent him to the pavement- releasing Christine's hand.

"Let's go, Christine." Erik growled taking her hand and pulling her towards the car.

"You'll fucking pay for this!" Raoul yelled and he returned to his feet. Erik didn't respond as he opened the passengers seat door and ushered Christine inside. Erik went to get into the drivers side when Raoul took a few steps towards him with a drawn back fist, as he swung Erik turned and caught his wrist and turned it behind his back with ease.

"You touch her, speak to her, even look at her again, I will end your miserable life and make sure nobody will ever find your body. Do I make myself crystal-fucking-clear?" Erik whispered in a deadly tone into the boys ear.

"Fuck. You." Raoul growled and Erik simply shoved him away.

Getting back in the car Erik only glanced at Christine but he could hear her soft whimpers. Swiftly putting the car in drive he took off down the winding road and leaving prom in the distance.

"How- how did you get here so fast?" Christine sniffled.

Erik reached over the center console, finding her hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and could hear her sigh of relief. "I didn't go far. Did you at least get to enjoy any of the dance?"

She sniffed and he sighed, turning toward a neighborhood Christine didn't recognize.

"Did he at least tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" Erik murmured, glancing over at her as he weaved their way through the suburban streets. There was a park tucked away at the back of the neighborhood, far enough out that the light pollution didn't completely block out the stars. It was quiet and calm.

"He's cheating on me," she mumbled, wiping at her smeared makeup with the back of her free hand. "With Carley. I saw them."

Erik couldn't say that her revelation surprised him at all. He had suspected as much the day the girl approached them in the restaurant. He wasn't sure what to say so he just put the car in park and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"I think I knew," she admitted shakily, laying her head back against the seat. "But seeing it… Erik, do you think I'm stupid?"

She was staring at him seriously and he shook his head slowly. "I think you're very bright, Christine."

"I think I might be," she sighed. "It _hurt_ , y'know? And I don't think it should've. I'm mad and I don't think - I don't think I'm allowed to be. I'm doing the same thing."

He leaned awkwardly over the center console, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against his side. "It doesn't always make sense and it doesn't have to," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're allowed to feel however you do. You don't have to justify it. You never have to justify the way you feel."

She turned her head, pressing her face against his chest and inhaling deeply. "I'm happy you're here," she mumbled.

He stroked his thumb against her pale throat soothingly. "Me too," he admitted honestly.

Christine tilted her head, her chin resting against his chest as she looked up at him seriously. Her cheeks were already turning red before she even opened her mouth. "Do I still get to go home with you?"

The way she asked it was gentle and teasing. There was no doubting her implication. "Do you still want to?" he asked.

"Yeah," she breathed, nuzzling against him. "I do. I think - like, it hurt but… it was kind of freedom. I want you. I don't have to feel guilty about it anymore."

He was silent for a moment. He wanted to stay there. He didn't want to pull his arm from around her. He didn't want to have to drive all the way back home. Eventually he kissed the crown of her head. "We'll have to make a stop first," he said, unwrapping his arm from around her. "I was on my way to take care of it when you texted me. And then, if you still want me to, I'll take you home."

—-

When they pulled out of the neighborhood a car pulled out behind them.

Erik was generally hyper aware of his surroundings. It seemed out of place to him. He couldn't put together what exactly was off about it - every third driveway had a black car in it and tinted windows weren't rare. The car in itself was perfectly normal but he had the strangest feeling about it.

He stayed in the right lane on the main road, driving at least ten miles under the speed limit. The car didn't pass him. It didn't tailgate. It stayed a perfectly safe stopping distance away.

Christine didn't seem to notice anything at all. She stared silently out of her window. Erik didn't draw any attention to it. The last thing he needed was for her to spiral into a panic attack when he was already on edge.

Christine's boy drove a navy BMW. Erik tried to reason that it was perfectly plausible that he had borrowed a friend's car and gone out searching. He wouldn't put it past the boy. The twist in his stomach told him that it was something more than petty high school stalking.

He pulled into the gas station that he had planned on going to, pulling up to the pump directly in front of the door. The car had pulled in behind them - it parked at the far end of the lot.

Erik tried to tell himself that he was an idiot. Then he realized no one got out of it. He had a feeling they weren't going to be home as soon as he had hoped.

He berated himself the entire time he pumped gas. He hadn't planned on getting gas but he had a feeling things were about to go sideways incredibly fast. He should have taken her home. He should have taken her directly there. He wouldn't be half as concerned if she wasn't with him.

He originally planned on leaving her in the car and running inside but he looked over and the car was still sitting there idling. There was no way he was leaving her alone.

"Come on," he said, opening her door. "I need to run inside. Let's get you something to drink, I bet you're parched."

"I am pretty thirsty," she said, climbing out of the car.

He put himself between her and the car across the parking lot, glancing at it as he pulled the door open for her. They had one of those security monitors that showed the front door and he stared at their image in it. They made an odd couple; her in her fancy dress with her running makeup, him with his casual clothes and mask. The image was fuzzy. Erik noted the chiming sound the door made when they walked in.

"Go get a drink, a snack if you want it. I'm going to be a minute so take your time."

Erik walked down an aisle full of chips, gazing up at the counter. There were security cameras that pointed out at the store. He could see the car still idling in the corner of the parking lot. There was still no one standing in the parking lot, no one had followed them in. Whoever it was was still sitting in the car.

When Christine found him he was staring dumbly at the display of condoms. He wasn't actually looking at them. He was building a map of the network of streets in his head, trying to determine the most indirect and confusing way to get her home.

Her hand on his elbow made him jump.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, looking at him closely.

He glanced up at the monitor behind the counter - the car was still there. "Of course," he said, pulling two boxes of condoms off of the display. "Find everything you need?"

She held up a bottle of root beer and gave him a nervous smile. "I'm all set."

Erik didn't have the time to be offended by the look the young cashier gave him when he slid the boxes of condoms onto the counter next to Christine's pop. "Marlboro reds, hundreds. Just one pack," he said, his hand lingering near the small of Christine's back as he tried to nonchalantly keep an eye on the monitor and the car sitting across the lot.

It didn't even register in his mind that he was never asked for an ID.

He walked between her and the car again as they went back to his car. He wasn't sure what he _actually_ planned to do if they were ambushed on the short walk but he supposed that using himself as a human shield, while it was a terrible idea, was better than having no plan at all.

It didn't happen. They made it safely back into the car and Christine opened her bottle of pop, taking a drink. "Want to try it?" she asked, holding it out to him.

"No," he said, glancing over at her and clicking the door lock button with a smile. "I'm okay, sweetheart. Thank you."

"Are you sure everything's okay? You're acting kinda weird…"

He gave one more glance to the car across the lot before he leaned over and kissed her gently. "Everything is fine, Christine," he reassured her, resting his forehead against hers. "I just can't wait to get you home. That's all."

"You're sure?" she whispered nervously.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled away. "I'm absolutely positive."

He wondered if it was mean to not give her some sort of warning about what he was sure was coming. Truthfully, he didn't want to panic her. Not any more than she was already going to be. If he told her that he was fairly certain their lives were in immediate danger he wasn't sure what she would do. Predictability was helpful in situations like this. He was going to keep her calm for as long as he possibly could, even if it meant lying to her.

There was only one drive out of the gas station parking lot and so he took it, not surprised at all when the other car crept up behind them.

There was hardly any traffic and Erik turned right out of the parking lot, glancing over to find Christine staring out of the window again.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, keeping one eye on the rear view mirror and the sleek black car tailing them.

"Nothing much," she replied with a sigh. "I'm just trying not to think. I'm ready to be home. That's what I'm thinking about. Going home and being with you."

The first pop sounded like a car backfiring. Christine jumped and looked back. "What was that?"

"I don't know," he lied gently, gripping the wheel tightly with both hands. "Probably nothing, Christine."

He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the car pulling into the passing lane, trying to get next to them. He pressed down a little harder on the gas, pulling ahead.

This was the end of keeping Christine calm. There was no way he could lie to her as the car pulled up beside them and the passenger window rolled down, showing a man he didn't recognize and the barrel of a gun. Christine was asking him something, he could hear her frantic words but he didn't have the capacity to listen to her and comprehend what was happening at the same time. _Passenger. At least two men, as many as five_.

"Listen to me," he said calmly, stepping hard on the gas. There was only a moment of hesitation before they sped ahead and he quickly pulled in front of the other car. The outside lane was an advantage. He didn't have many of them. "Open the glove box, Christine."

She did as she was told, her fingers trembling.

"All the way in the back, find the gun and hand it to me. The safety is on. I promise."

He preferred to aim for the driver. For her sake he would aim for the tires. Being shot at on her prom night was bad enough; he didn't want her to be witness to death too. The only goal he had in his head as her shaking hand passed him the gun was getting her home and behind as many locked doors as he possibly could.

The car was gaining quickly on them and it swapped lanes, moving to the right as it came up beside them. Now the driver's side window was down, Christine was screaming and he still didn't recognize anyone in the car.

He slammed on the brakes, slid the gun into the pocket of the door and reached down, pulling the parking brake. The car handled going from zero to sixty well; the reverse was a struggle and they fishtailed. He would gladly pay for another set of tires if they made it out alive.

He had intended to get behind the other car but they were a step ahead of him; the next thing he knew it had flipped around and was coming at them head-on, shining its brights.

He threw the car in reverse and slammed on the gas, saying a quick prayer and hoping there was still no one behind them. Christine's screaming made it incredibly difficult to think but he did his best, jerking the wheel so that they slid sideways across both lanes. He tapped the breaks and forced the car into drive, crossing three lanes and leading them back toward the gas station.

New tires? He would gladly buy a whole new car.

Somewhere in the jumble of words leaving her mouth Erik heard her ask for an explanation. _Who, why, I don't understand_.

"I promise that I will explain," he said, feeling eerily calm as the car finally started gaining on them. "Later. Right now I need you to breathe, Christine, and stay as calm as you possibly can. I _need_ you to. I promise that I will get you home safely and then I will explain everything."

When he whipped around the corner at far too fast a speed she didn't scream. He glanced over and saw her clutching the chest-strap of her seatbelt, her eyes pressed closed and her teeth tightly clenched.

He flipped off his lights and quickly took a left turn, hoping that he could shake them for long enough to get her home.

He knew it was wishful thinking but he couldn't help being disappointed when the car pulled up behind him, revving its engine.

He led them through the side streets and back out onto a four-lane road, flipping his lights back on. They were firing now. He could see the flashes reflected in the sideview mirrors and he heard the odd sound of bullets puncturing the plastic body of the car and ricocheting off of the metal frame.

As the car pulled up on Christine's side he reached over, grabbing the back of her head and forcing it under the dashboard.

"Stay down," he said firmly, not really giving her an option as he held her in place.

There was a shot, the sound of the passenger window shattering and Christine let out a blood curdling scream as he heard the ricochet of another bullet.

Calm was important. She hadn't screamed quite like that through the entire situation and the thought that she may have been hit was at the forefront of his mind. He reminded himself that as long as she was screaming, she was alive. As long as she was screaming there was a high possibility that she would be okay.

There were very few things that would actually set Erik over the edge. Hearing her scream like that was one of them. He would _not_ spare her emotional state at the cost of her life. He refused. If she hated him he could accept that. The caveat was that she had to be alive to hate him.

He reached down into the pocket of the door and found the gun, using his knee to attempt to hold the wheel steady. He clicked off the safety, aimed carefully through the passenger window, and pulled the trigger.

He watched the driver's head snap back. The relief he felt when the car careened off of the roadway and into the guardrail was palpable.

Erik slid the gun back into the pocket of the door, let go of Christine's head and sped off down the road. He didn't linger on the fact that he had just killed a man; he didn't have time to. They would only delay for as long as it took to get the body out of the driver's seat and someone else into it. Even if he didn't know these particular men he knew the way they operated. If they wouldn't linger on mourning then he wouldn't linger on killing.

They were three streets over by the time he realized that she was still down, bent at the waist and pressing her face against the skirt of her dress.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching over and gently brushing his hand over her hair. "It's okay, Christine. You can sit up now. You're safe."

She was absolutely trembling but she unfurled herself slowly, staring at the shattered window.

He found her hand with his, running his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. "Are you okay?"

"I think - I think - oh God!" she said, her eyes landing on him. "You're bleeding."

He looked down at his arm and sure enough there was blood seeping out from up near his shoulder, soaking his sleeve. He didn't feel it. Adrenaline was still pumping through him. He would feel it later, he was sure of that, and if he couldn't manage to dig the bullet out he wasn't sure if he would ever not feel it again. "I'm okay, Christine," he said gently. "Nothing vital, luckily."

She was strangely calm as she stared at his arm. She didn't look anywhere else; she stared fully at the blood spreading slowly across his sleeve, clutching his hand tightly.

The poor girl was in shock. He was pretty sure of that. She was staring at his arm but he was pretty sure she didn't see anything at all - it had happened to him too, in the beginning. Everything would go blank for a while, like his brain had to catch up before it could process what happened.

He just continued to stroke his thumb over her knuckles as he drove, keeping an eye on his mirrors and the road ahead. The car didn't reappear and he cut his lights when he pulled into her neighborhood, parking all the way up against the house when he pulled into the driveway.

She didn't try to hold onto him when he let go of her hand. He wasn't sure that she had the capacity to. He helped her out of the car and she staggered slightly. He caught her and looked over her closely. There was no blood anywhere on her. She hadn't been hit, she had just been terrified. That was a relief.

He opened the door and stood there with her for a moment. "Christine, look at me," he instructed gently. She didn't say anything but she blinked up at him with a furrowed brow. He framed her jaw gently with his thumbs and the pads of his pointer fingers, looking at her carefully. "I love you," he said softly before he could manage to stop the words. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead and brushed a finger down the side of her throat. "I want you to go inside and make sure all of the doors are locked. You can use the lamp in your bedroom but you need to make sure you close the shades, okay?" She nodded dumbly and he pressed his forehead against hers. "This is important. If anyone knocks don't answer the door. I don't care what they say. Don't even leave your room. Call the police if you have to. I don't want you to leave your room. Not for anything. Not until the sun comes up. Can you do that, Christine?" She nodded again and he sighed. "Tell me, out loud. Tell me that you can do that."

"I won't leave my room," she said, her voice shaking. "And I - I'll make sure everything is locked."

He nodded, pulling back and pressing another kiss to her forehead. "I'll be home. I promise. I promise I will come back home and I will answer any question you ask. You're going to have a lot of them when this sinks in. You can listen to your music but keep it low, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, wiping at her dry eyes with her hand.

He nodded, taking a step back and waiting for her to go through the door. He didn't have a lot of time to linger - he knew they wouldn't be far behind and he wanted to lead them as far from her as quickly as he could.

"Erik," she whispered.

He looked up just as she jumped at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his chest. She was trembling, absolutely shaking and all he could do was run his hand through her hair, letting her hold onto him just a bit too tightly.

"Promise," she mumbled to his chest. "Pr-promise you'll come back. Promise me. You'll be safe. You'll come back, you'll -"

"I promise," he said calmly. "I promise, Christine. Everything is going to be okay. I promise. But you need to go inside and do what I told you, okay? I promise if you do what I said everything will be okay and I'll be back before you know it."

She pulled back with a nod and this time she was wiping at tears.

He leaned down, pressing one more gentle kiss to her lips. "Go."

He only lingered by the front door until he heard the click of the deadbolt locking.

He picked up the large shards of glass in the driveway on the passenger side of the car - they must have come out with Christine - and tossed them into the seat. It would definitely be a new car. There was no way he would be able to drive this one after tonight. The shattered glass would be easy enough to replace but as he walked around the car he saw how absolutely riddled with bullet holes it was. It would definitely draw attention, which is exactly what he had been trying to avoid. The repairs that would be needed were far too extensive to be finished as quickly as he needed them to be.

He sat in the driver's seat for a moment, still and staring at the house. It was dark and quiet.

He took a moment to asses the damage to his arm. The blood was a slow seep, not enough to be immediately concerning. That would change when he found a moment to stop and try to extract the bullet but for now it seemed more beneficial to leave it just as it was.

He opened the glovebox to double check his supplies. He found the full box of ammunition and an additional loaded magazine. He doubted that he would have time to stop and reload once he managed to catch their attention again but just in case, he double checked that it was there. With that he was off.

Erik flipped his lights back on once he was halfway out of the neighborhood. She was home, safe, and his goal had flipped rather quickly - he wanted them to find him. He wanted to draw them out. He wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in the head of every person in that car for putting Christine in danger and now there was nothing holding him back from attempting it.

He turned the radio on and pulled back out onto the main roads, completely unsurprised when he saw the same car flip it's lights on and pull behind him. The headlight was busted on the passenger side and there was a large scrape in the paint along the side where it had ground against the guardrail. Erik honked his horn, revved his engine and took off down the road.

He felt far more comfortable now, without her in the car. There was an advantage when the only life he had to worry about was his own.

He kept them on backroads and side streets, leading them further away from suburbia. Witnesses weren't needed and Erik had no desire for any bystander to be hurt. And they would be. That was something he had learned. Human nature was a funny thing. At the sound of gunfire people tended to have two reactions; run for their life or stand and stare. Neither one was really great. Panic made people do incredibly stupid things.

Erik was good at shutting himself down. He was good at zeroing in on what was happening when it was truly important. That was the advantage that Jefe liked to play - Erik had the ability to turn off his emotions like a switch. He was able to calculate his moves coldly and logically with little to no reliance on any emotional impact. The only thing that kept him from truly worrying that something was wrong with him was the fact that it would come back up later, often in the form of bile. He hated the things that he had done, he hated the things that he was about to do, but the instinct for self-preservation and his anger were far stronger than any guilt he would feel later.

He slowed the car, wanting them to catch up with him. The closer they were, the better his aim was. Moving vehicles weren't the best for target practice and he needed to preserve every bullet he had. They all needed to count. He wasn't quite as prepared as he had been in Mexico - he did his best to live his life far more conservatively than he had there.

They weren't shooting at him now. He had a few questions in his head. He had no doubt that he was being watched by more eyes than were in that car. There was no way they didn't know exactly where he was staying. He wondered why they hadn't followed him to the house. He wondered why they were no longer filling his car with bullets. He pushed the thoughts away. The answers didn't really matter. They were just something to fill his head as he led the car down the deserted roads and further out into the desert.

He reached into the pocket of the door and found his gun, drawing it back up and slowing his car down, baiting them closer. He rolled his window down and aimed carefully for the driver's side tire.

He hit the frame instead and grumbled a curse. He needed them beside him again. If they pulled up beside him he would be able to aim for the people inside instead - a far easier and less dangerous target than the metal frame of the car.

Almost as though they heard his thoughts the car pulled into the next lane, pulling up next to him. The passenger window rolled down. There was a red smear of blood on the seat behind the new driver and there was a new face he didn't recognize in the passenger seat.

"¡Detente amigo!" The man in the passenger seat shouted, his gun trained on Erik. "¡Detente!"

Before he could give it another thought, Erik pulled the trigger of his own gun and tapped the brakes, falling behind them. He wasn't sure if he managed to hit anyone but it didn't really matter if he did. He pulled behind the car this time, staying right on its bumper.

When he pitted the car it was almost physically painful. He had loved his Audi. It didn't deserve the abuse it was getting tonight. He reminded himself that he had already known that it was going to be a loss.

It only put them off course for a second but it was enough. The car veered sideways and Erik hit the gas, praying that his airbags wouldn't go off as he rammed against the driver's side.

He threw the car into reverse, backed up a bit and shifted into drive, ramming it again before they had a chance to recognize what was happening.

The dust cleared and Erik stared at the car, waiting for it to move. It sat still, idling just where it was. The back passenger door opened and he watched someone drop to the pavement, coughing.

He fired three bullets. Five were left in the magazine. He slammed his car door, walking behind his own. He wasn't idiot enough to walk in front of the car; there was no guarantee that the driver was actually incapacitated.

He stood over the man on the ground, his gun trained on him. "¿Por qué te mandó el Jefe? Qué es lo que quiere?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. The man was silent, staring up at him. "Habla o te mato. Yo soy el ángel de la muerte."

The man coughed and looked straight up at Erik. "Moriré de todos modos."

With that, Erik pulled the trigger. He was a man of his word and he had never made an empty threat.

He saw two more sets of headlights, one coming from ahead and one approaching from behind when he looked over his shoulder. He calmly walked back to his car, climbed into the seat, and put it in reverse, driving around the still wreckage.

The only emotion he could honestly say he felt when the car approaching from ahead flipped around and fell behind him was annoyance. He wanted to go home. He wanted to hold Christine and promise her that everything would be okay. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to let her cry against his chest and ask him all of the questions that would hurt to answer.

They continued on, both new cars following behind him in much the same way. Eventually, as though they were all tired of the game, he heard a pop. His car skidded and he heard the grind of metal against pavement. He fought to keep control of the vehicle, managed it for a few minutes, but the second pop came and the back of the car careened.

Half off of the roadway he stopped, his hands tight on the steering wheel. There was no where else for him to go from there and no amount of careful maneuvering would get the car under control and at a decent rate of speed with two flat back tires. There were a blissful few minutes of silence and he let his head rest against the seat, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"¡Salí! Sal del maldito auto ahora!" Erik saw the barrel of an automatic rifle being pointed towards him from the side view mirror. The headlights of other cars illuminated the dessert around them. He was surrounded, there was no way out this time. Jefe found him, he was going to die on this night. He would die alone, in a dessert on a night he should be home, making love to the girl he had fallen in love with. He was going to die tonight.

"Manos donde puedo verlos, ángel de la muerte!" That name, that title nearly made him heave from the memories that it carried. The Angel of Death, the demon that mothers warned their naughty children to beware of. The reincarnation of the Angel of Death is what he was known as.

Erik did as he was told, placing his hands behind his head. His car door was then flung open and a firm grip wrapped around his forearm as he was forcefully pulled out of the car. He didn't put up a fight or struggle. It was not worth it, he knew what these people were capable of.

The wind of the cold desert night blew in his face, bright lights shown in his face from flashlights and headlights. Clenching his jaw, he allowed himself to be pulled into the middle of the circle that was created by people and cars. Every gun in sight was trained on him, locked and loaded to shoot if a signal was given.

A sharp kick to the back of Eriks knee forced him to the ground. He growled, turning his head up to stare at the man who had put him in this symbolic position of submission. Instead of locking eyes, his temple met the cool metal of a pistol.

"Not so powerful now, are you?" The man holding the gun to his head sneered, a heavy Spanish accent present. Erik simply shut his eyes tightly, and prayed it would be all over now. Kill him and get it over with.

"Enough. Bite your tongue before I cut it off, Javier."

Erik tensed even more at the sound of the voice, the voice of Jose Ruiz. His old partner, best friend, and keeper. "This is quite the shift of positions for us, Erik. I never thought I would be the one to force you to your knees like a little bitch. You were always such a fighter." Jose chuckled. Erik opened his eyes, to see a familiar face staring back at him. Those dark brown, almost black eyes that belonged to a man who Erik had trusted with his life staring back at him. Jose had grown older. His black hair was now silvering on the sides, his beard graying.

"If you're going to kill me then make it quick. I've heard that Hell's waiting room gets mighty full this time of night," Erik grumbled.

Jose shook his head and snickered, "I have instructions from Jefe. I am only to kill you if you don't agree to come back-"

"Then kill me," Erik said flatly.

"I should, you've killed four of my men tonight," Jose stated. "Your aim certainly hasn't suffered in eight years, mi amigo."

"Too many nights sitting in a jail cell imagining putting a bullet in the people who betrayed me head's."

Jose scoffed. "It was not supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to be taken into Mexican custody, not American."

"Let me guess, I was to be tortured and maimed for sleeping with Maria. I would have been allowed to see the construction of the tunnels finished. Then a bullet would've been put in the back of my head," Erik asserted aggressively, his whole body trembling with rage from the thought of the set up.

"I was never told. I never knew any of this was to happen," Jose responded.

"Of course. Don't lie to me, not right before I'm about to die-"

"You don't have to die," Jose corrected. "Come home, come back to Mexico."

"There is nothing there for me."

"Jefe says you will have exactly what you had the first time. Money, drugs, woman, and power," Jose said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"That means nothing anymore…" Erik growled, hunching his shoulders and listening to the metallic clicking of guns following his movement altered him to just how many were surrounding him. There was one beside him, and six more around them. He had come with eleven men. Erik had killed four. The math certainly wasn't in his favor.

"Nothing? That doesn't sound like the Erik I remember. What's happened-" Jose stopped mid sentence before letting out a dark laugh. "The girl. The little eighteen year old princessa you have fallen for."

"Leave her out of this," Erik seethed, his voice threatening and dangerously low. Jose had no business interfering.

"You always did have a soft spot for the young ones, mi amigo," Jose said slowly. "It always did get you in trouble - what was the chiquita's name?"

"Luciana, the little girl who adored your wife and daughter…" Erik grunted knowing that would hit a spot that should never be touched upon.

Erik's head was forced back to look up at Jose. The deathly look in his eyes was something that would strike fear into any sane man's soul. Jose pointed his pistol and then cocked it before forcing into Erik's mouth.

"Talk about them again, I will kill you," he threatened, ripping the gun out of Erik's mouth.

Erik hocked onto the desert sand, getting the metallic taste out of his mouth. He only looked back up at Jose. "Talk about what? The sunday dinners at your house? With you, me, Isabella, Valentina-"

"Enough."

"No. When Lu would spend days out in the garden with Val and Izzy. How I used to let Izzy sit on my lap and I would sing to her whenever she asked. You remember," Erik saw Jose's grip on the gun change. He would die but he needed to remind Jose of what he was taking away from another.

"Stop!" Jose yelled turning back towards Erik and marching closer.

"That day that I found you drunk and on the brink of overdose after you found out they were murdered by your own fucking brother!" Erik simply let the blunt force of a kick send him on his side but the unmistakable sound of an automatic firing was the only sound the made Erik's ears ring.


	18. Without Me

**Mexico, 15 years before**

Sundays were a time for worship and, Jose had insisted when he showed up knocking on Erik's door at eight in the morning, family.

"And rest," Erik grumpily reminded him when he pushed his way into the house.

"I do not have time to chase you today," Jose said flatly. "Dress and you will come with me."

"For what?"

"Familia," Jose said simply. "Sundays are for my wife and daughter, not to babysit the new child. Desafortunadamente estoy atrapado contigo. So you will come with me."

In the beginning Erik rolled his eyes and huffed about it. _Family time_ certainly wasn't what he sought from Mexico.

He would soon come to learn that Valentina, Jose's far too beautiful wife, was an excellent cook. She was kind and had one of the most beautiful, effortless smiles he had ever seen. He would learn that Izzy, Jose's little daughter who had greeted him with a "¡Mi nombre es Izzy y tengo seis años!" while holding up six of her little fingers and grinning at him with a smile full of gaps left from missing baby teeth, was endlessly entertained by all sorts of simple magic tricks. Her favorite color was green but only like the grass in front of the house, she insisted, and not green like the lime colored crayon.

Erik still complained about going. He was too stubborn not to. But Sundays soon became his oasis. They were a welcome break from the violence and drugs that would soon color his life. Valentina welcomed him easily into her home and their quiet family life. It almost reminded him a bit of Gustave and Victoria - there was no doubt, watching the two, that they were endlessly and sickeningly in love.

Izzy would soon come to call him Tío, and Jose would eventually come to accept it. It was a stark contrast to the other titles Erik would earn for himself. He appreciated it. Sundays were his refuge. For one day a week he was allowed to forget everything that he was outside of those four walls and he was allowed to be human. He was allowed to be Izzy's _Tío_. He was allowed to sing silly songs to her while she sat on his knee and stun her by pulling coins from behind her ear. He was allowed to help Valentina chop vegetables in the kitchen and discuss whether the humidity was good for the tomato plants growing in the yard or if they needed to hope for more arid weather. He was allowed to sit between Jose and Izzy at the dinner table, giving a hand to each of them as Valentina insisted on praying over the food. It was the only taste of _normal_ Erik had there and he soaked it up greedily.

Luciana walking into his life changed very little about his Sundays in the beginning. It wasn't until the fourth Sunday she was with him that he brought her along, hoping that Valentina would welcome Lu in instead of turning her away. It was the only thing he could think of to give her comfort - he had taken her to church that morning too, for the first time, and she had been plainly and cruelly informed by Jefe that _her kind_ were not welcome in the pews. Her kind. She had gone even quieter than she normally was after the small confrontation.

Jose's family was his rock. Jose and Valentina were the only two that knew the true details of his relationship with Luciana. They were the only people Erik honestly felt he could trust.

Valentina had welcomed Luciana warmly without a second thought. She took her into the kitchen and Erik heard their low chatter and Luciana's nervous laughter. They made dinner together. Izzy followed her around like Lu was her older sister.

Luciana came to appreciate Sundays too. She always took the opportunity to wear her best dresses and do up her hair. She didn't have much outside of Erik's home. He was grateful that he could share the family that he had become so entangled in with her.

One evening, a few months past, Valentina asked him to come into the kitchen while Luciana sat on the rug in the living room, braiding Izzy's hair for her. Jose and Valentina sat down with him at the kitchen table and Valentina quietly told him her story. It was strikingly similar to Luciana's. If they had simply changed the names he could almost be convinced it _was_ Luciana's story. It was a marriage of necessity.

The conversation had quickly ended when little Izzy flew into the kitchen, demanding that everyone look at her _bonita_ hair.

The little family gave him a flame of hope that he hadn't had in a long time. They gave him a home. Jose quickly shifted from his keeper to the role of a concerned older brother.

It was a drive-by shooting from an unknown assailant that took them. At least, that was the official story Jefe decided to stick with. It was a weak one. Valentina was shot seven times and Izzy had been found in the street, her small body broken beneath the wheels of a car. Erik had never heard of a drive-by in which the responsible sat long enough to put seven bullets in a victim and be practiced enough to avoid any damage to the house she was standing in front of.

It happened early on a Monday morning. Erik didn't learn of it until that Wednesday, when he really began to worry about Jose's absence. The man never left him alone for a day, let alone three.

Erik would never forget the way he found him, laying in his daughter's bed, mumbling under his breath. He would never forget the way he had to step around the room to avoid the discarded needles that littered the floor. He wouldn't forget the terrible smell, either.

Erik helped him up. He forced him into the shower fully clothed. He made him eat a bowl of microwaved oatmeal.

"Do not find your happiness here, hombre," Jose had muttered to him, only half-lucid. "If you care for the chiquita, marry her. Marry her and take her far away. The first chance you find."

Erik hadn't been sure what sort of response he should give that, so he hadn't offered one at all.

Luciana had sobbed when he gave her the news. He hadn't wanted to tell her at all but she, too, had become quite entangled in the little family. She would remind him of their Sunday plans every Saturday evening, as though she was worried he would forget.

It was at Luciana's insistence that the Sunday tradition was kept alive. It was never as bright, never as cheerful, but every Sunday they invaded the now too-big house. Luciana would tend the small garden alone, keeping the tomato's and flowers vibrant and alive just as Valentina had. She would cook dinner every Sunday, following Valentina's recipes as closely as she could remember. She would insist that they all join hands and pray over the dinners. Her prayers were not quite as practiced and polished as Valentina's had been but she gave it her best effort for the first four weeks. On the fifth, Jose took it over, mumbling a far more traditional prayer.

Jose never fully recovered, but each time Erik saw him his eyes were just a bit brighter. Each time Erik went into the home, there were fewer needles littered about until one day, he found none.

Erik and Luciana would often discuss Valentina and Izzy alone. He did his best to keep their memory alive for her. But neither dared to speak the names to Jose after the day they died.

* * *

**Present Day**

Erik's ears were still ringing and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't dead until a hand closed around his upper arm, causing him to hiss in pain. He certainly felt the bullet lodged there now and the hand shifted, pressing down and forcing it deeper under his skin. His discomfort didn't put Jose off at all - he still yanked Erik to his feet.

"Take off your shirt."

Erik blinked in confusion, looking around at the carnage. The men laid on the ground around them, the beams of the flashlights that had been trained on him crossed each other and made it incredibly difficult to see.

"Erik, take off your shirt," Jose repeated.

Erik was still struggling to comprehend what had taken place in the last five minutes. "What?" he asked stupidly.

Jose squeezed his upper arm and pain shot through him. "This needs to come out," he said calmly. "Take off your shirt."

Erik tried to ignore the fact that his fingers were shaking as he unbuttoned his shirt. He would never understand why God teased him so mercilessly. He had flirted with death far too many times to still be standing there unbuttoning his shirt in the the middle of the desert. "I am not going to Mexico," he said suddenly.

"Idiota," Jose grumbled under his breath. "Neither of us is returning to Mexico, hermano."

Erik slid the shirt off of his shoulders and let Jose push him toward the hood of the nearest car. Erik hissed as Jose's fingers pressed against the tender skin surrounding the bullet.

"Don't be a little bitch," Jose huffed. "It is only going to get worse… The princessa, she was not injured?"

Erik closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sharp stabs of pain that came with each press of Jose's fingers. "Christine," he said, suddenly needing to hear her name out loud. "Not physically. Terrified but not hurt."

Jose said nothing and Erik heard the slide of a blade against metal.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasped as Jose nudged the tip of his pocket knife into the wound.

"You act like this is the first time we've had to do this," Jose commented, digging for the bullet with the knife.

"There was - _fuck -_ a Hell of a lot more cocaine last time," Erik complained, clenching his left fist tightly.

"It was not even deep," Jose said, catching the bullet in his palm. "You have gone soft."

"Jesus," Erik breathed. He had to admit that it was slightly more bearable now that it was out. The blood running down his arm was uncomfortable and he could feel his pulse throbbing in the wound but when Jose pressed his fingers to the same spot the pain wasn't quite as stabbing.

Jose reached into his jacket and produced a flask. "Cry like a little bitch again, por favor," Jose mumbled gruffly, opening the flask and dumping the alcohol over the wound.

Erik clenched his jaw. It stung but it wasn't as bad as the knife had been - it was bearable. "That's it, then?" Erik asked as the pain started to fade. "All of this and you just… let me go?"

Jose screwed the cap back onto the flask slowly, sliding it back into his jacket. "Do you remember when I told you to marry the chiquita, Erik?"

"Do you?" Erik asked, sighing when Jose shot him a sharp look. "Yes. I remember, Jose… I regret not taking the advice every day."

Jose walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk, returning with a tackle box. He dug around in it for a minute and came out with packing gauze. "I hope, now, you will take the advice," he said, pulling the end out. "If you love the princessa, marry her. Take her far away. Word will eventually reach Jefe. You are not safe here."

"I never understood it," Erik said, speaking through clenched teeth as Jose began to pack the gauze tightly into the wound. "I had eight very long years to think about it and I still don't understand. He didn't even like the bitch and he nearly toppled his own livelihood over to get back at me."

"Maria?" Jose asked, huffing out a laugh when Erik nodded. "Jefe has never loved anyone in his life. He never will. He didn't have to like her. She was his wife and you crossed a line. I'll admit, it was a bit of a relief to learn that his favorite pet was no more immune than his own brother."

"Don't compare the two," Erik sighed, clenching his fist again. "What he did to you was far worse than anything he put me through. I fucked his wife. What were you guilty of?"

Jose was silent for a long moment, packing the gauze tightly. He leaned down into the tackle box and came back up with a square of gauze, medical tape, and a small pair of scissors. "The same thing Luciana was, I think," he said eventually, pulling a line of tape and cutting it before he positioned the gauze over the wound. He taped the top edge down first. "Giving you hope. You were more productive when you were miserable."

Erik stared down at Jose's hands and their sure movement as he taped the gauze down carefully. "If that's the case… how can you stand here and let me go? If you were the cause of that for me - God, I'd be more than ready to kill you."

Jose shrugged one shoulder, bending down to close the tackle box. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I brought you into my home," he said calmly. "The best revenge you could get is living happily. Be with _la princessa_. Take her away. Keep your hope, hombre."

"She would be better off without me." Erik said, "Sometimes I wonder if Lu would have been too…"

"Enough. Enough of that." Jose rasped, "I didn't save you so you could throw yourself a pity party."

Erik glanced over at Jose, noticing how closely he was studying him.

"What?"

He shook his head, "You still look like the twenty year old boy I despised so much."

"The thorn in your side that just wouldn't die, huh?" Erik said with a smile.

"The little brother I never asked for- but I am not able to say I never cared for." Jose said looking down at the sand.

"Eight years was too long, mi hermano." Erik sighed, standing up and looking up at the night sky, "Where will you go if not mexico?"

"... There is one place I have in mind, if I'm able to make it there. There are a few there waiting for me." Jose said, his voice breaking.

"Stay here." Erik said looking at the bodies laid out around them, it was almost as if he was twenty five again- Jose by his side.

"At least I got to see you one last time, to make sure I could leave you, mi hermano."

Erik's brows furrowed, and just as he turned to look back at Jose he saw the barrel of a gun at his temple.

"No!"

There wasn't enough time to stop him from pulling the trigger, there was only enough time to watch the splatter of blood against the sand and Jose's body fall to the ground, the life draining from his eyes like the blood from his head.

He dropped to his knees. Something in the back of his mind registered the warmth of the blood on his palms as he uselessly tried to apply pressure to the bullet wound. It ran between his fingers like water. Nothing would stop the flow and eventually he leaned back, staring at Jose.

He vaguely registered the buzzing of his phone in his pocket but he didn't have the mind to deal with it. He slid it out and turned it off, knowing exactly who was calling.

All he could do was close his eyes against the image in front of him.

* * *

**Mexico 13 years before**

Erik wouldn't forget how dark the boy's eyes were. He wouldn't learn his name, he couldn't remember his face, but his eyes were dark, almost black, and he would remember that for the rest of his life.

"¡Colapso! ¡Colapso! ¡Ven rápido!"

In all honesty it was a welcome distraction. He had loaded Luciana into a nondescript black car the night before, sending her toward the border with a pocket full of cash and not much else other than vague directions to an old friend and a note to give her when she arrived and a very specific set of instruction threateningly murmured to the driver.

He was up with his jacket in his hand in a moment. "¿Alguien ha sido herido?"

"No. No había nadie dentro. ¡Con rapidez!" The boy was talking quickly, tripping over himself.

That was the first thing that alerted Erik to fact that something was odd about the situation. The message boy's nervousness. The second was the question buzzing at the back of his skull. If no one had been in the tunnels, how did they know there had been a collapse?

He still followed the boy, up and through the dark streets, down to the entrance of the tunnels that had been his full time labor.

Things were remarkably calm for there to have been a collapse but he followed the boy down and into the dark tunnels, looking and listening intently. He couldn't make out one wall from the other. Further and further back he was lead.

He heard a whimper and a hand closed tightly around his upper arm. He tried to pull away but another unseen hand closed around the other arm. They both pulled in opposite directions and a swift kick brought him to the dirt on his knees.

He struggled, for a moment, against the hands that held him but they only pulled his arms tighter and further. He could hear another whimper. The voice it belonged to was decidedly feminine.

"Don't fight, hombre," Jose's voice was quiet and serious. "It will make it worse. Do not make it worse. Please."

"What is -" Erik's question died in his throat as the harsh work lights flooded the stone room.

They were a mirrored image. He stared at Luciana, his breath stuck in his chest. He didn't know the men who held her arms. She was crying, sobbing, and all he could hear was a muffled whimper. Jefe's hand was wrapped over her mouth, pulling her head back tightly against his chest.

"Do you think me stupid, Erik?" Jefe asked, his voice low and calm.

Erik's eyes swept over Luciana. She wore hardly anything, nothing but a pair of black underwear and a sports bra. He looked at the bruises on her hips, her thighs, her wrists, her already blackening eye.

"Lu, Chiquita," Erik breathed. He pulled forward and the men holding him yanked him back.

"Chiquita," Jefe murmured warmly, tugging her head back roughly and brushing his lips against her temple. "What a pretty thing to call a whore, hm?"

"Don't touch her," Erik growled.

Jefe's smile was cold. "Too late for that. My ángel de la muerte is a bit of a pussy, hm? Couldn't even deflower a whore. The bitch bled for me, Erik."

"No," Erik breathed. "No - Lu, Chiquita, look at me. I'm right here. I'm going to -"

"Help her?" Jefe asked. His free hand was tracing over her collarbone and Erik watched the way her body trembled against his touch. "She knows what she is, Erik. A puta. She was good, hardly even fought it - you are the only one that doesn't seem to understand. If you do not like a gift you should give it back. There were many men that would have been honored to have such a girl. It was disrespectful of you, trying to hide her away like that. Insulting, honestly, that you think I am so stupid."

"Your problem is with me," Erik tried, somehow managing to keep his voice steady as he held Luciana's eye. "It has nothing to do with her. Let her go. I will take your punishment."

Jefe's hand slid up, wrapping around her throat, poising the stinger of the scorpion tattooed on his hand at the edge of her neck as he leaned down. "You trusted this sniffling boy," he murmured, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, his eyes trained on Erik. "Trusted him to save you and here you are. What do you think, Luciana? Should I let you go? There is one bullet. Whose head should it go in?"

Erik jerked himself forward as Jefe's hand tightened around her throat and the hands on him yanked him back roughly.

"Don't, Erik," Jose's voice was strained. "If you react he will make it worse."

Erik thought he was going to be sick. He could read the terror in her eyes. She was trying not to look at him and it made his heart ache - did she think that he was ashamed of her? "It's okay, Chiquita," he plead softly. "It's okay. You. I will always choose you. You remember? It's okay. This is my fault. I should be the one to bear the punishment. You've done nothing wrong, Luciana."

Jefe sighed in exasperation. "This is why, Erik," he said, his voice gruff. "You are weak. You let her make you weak. You let her make you stupid, see? Look at you. It's pathetic. I am doing you a favor, taking her away. You will see."

"I will do whatever you ask, Jefe," Erik breathed. "I will finish your tunnels. I will keep your men in line. I will find - find better, cheaper routes to carry the drugs. I will walk into the gunfire first. I will do whatever it is you need, Jefe. Let her come home. Let me take her home."

"Who, Luciana? What do you want?" Jefe asked coolly. "A bullet will end in one of you tonight. Who will it be?"

His hand slid slowly away from Luciana's mouth and the first thing Erik heard was a shuddering sob. "¡Yo! ¡Mátame! Por favor, mantenlo a salvo. Te ruego que lo mantengas a salvo," she cried, gasping for breath.

Jefe's hand was back over her mouth and he smiled. "A selfless whore," he murmured. "Perhaps you are onto something, Erik. The little puta loves you. She loves you enough to die for you. It would be a shame to take that sacrifice from her." Jefe looked to the man at his left. "Dejarla ir," he murmured.

Her left arm was freed and Erik was begging, pleading, screaming in his head for her to fight against it, for her to push Jefe away, for her to do _something_ , but she stood frozen, Jefe's hand still wrapped around her throat, the other still covering her mouth.

"Tell the puta that you love her, Erik," Jefe said darkly.

"Chiquita," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Lo siento, Luciana. Lo siento. Te quiero. Eres más, chiquita. Lo siento mucho. Te amo Luciana."

"Heartbreaking," Jefe said coolly, letting his hand drop from her throat and wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her roughly back against himself. "Dejarla ir," he said to the other man holding her.

When her hands were freed she still didn't fight against him. Instead she clutched onto the arm he had wrapped around her waist. Jefe began to drag her further into the tunnels and she dragged her heels, whimpering from behind his palm.

Erik clawed. He yanked and pulled and twisted his arms trying to break away from the hands that held him but another set joined in, wrapping around his chest from behind. Even when Erik kicked he couldn't manage to find an angle that gave him any leverage.

He didn't stop fighting until he heard it. Her scream, the echoing crack of something, a thud and the gunshot that echoed through the caverns.

It wasn't until silence fell that he collapsed against the arms holding his chest. He suddenly didn't care if anyone saw him cry - it didn't matter anymore.

He had filled her head with dreams and let her die for them.

"She does not suffer now," Jose's shaking voice said. It took until that moment for Erik to realize that it was Jose's arms still wrapped around him. "She is at peace now, hermano. No more fear, no more pain. Ella esta con Valentina y Izzy."

* * *

Erik sobbed, his hand shaking as he tried to hold the gun steady. It was cold, freezing cold against his temple. The wind picked up and the gritty sand irritated his skin.

He stared at Jose, his eyes still halfway open and lifeless, the blood soaking in and staining the sand. He was angry. He was hurt. He was… distraught.

Pulling the trigger would be easy. He could end it for himself just like it had been ended for everyone he had loved - no one. There was no one left. No one to fight for him. No one that had cared about him.

_It is a terrible sin_. He could hear Luciana's young voice in his ear, childishly serious in response to his off-colored joke about killing himself.

Luciana had died for him. She had offered her own life so that his could go on. Jose turned his gun on himself so that Erik could keep living. He couldn't, for anything, figure out what it was that was in him that made him worth saving. There was nothing. There was blackness and sin and murder.

_You are being selfish._ Luciana's voice echoed in his head.

"I'm tired, Lu," he whispered. "I can't do this anymore. I can't lose anyone else."

_You owe her an explanation._

"Christine," he whispered in response to the voice in his head. "She would be better without me. What if she gets hurt? I can't - I destroy everything, Chiquita. You know that better than anyone."

_She will get hurt without you too._

His trembling hand slowly lowered the gun, setting it in the sand and pulling his hand away before he could change his mind. He wouldn't be able to touch it again for a few minutes. Not safely. "Tell me there's something there, Lu," he plead softly. "Something better on the other side. Something that makes all of this - this suffering worth it. Tell me you're there. Valentina and Izzy, J- Jose."

There was no answer. He listened as closely as he could, held his breath even, but there was nothing. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes trying to grind away the last few hours, trying to burn the images out of his head.

" _Fuck!_ " he screamed, trying to fill his half-paralyzed lungs.

_You just need to breathe through it_. That was the advice he had given Christine that night he found her having a panic attack.

Just breathe.

It seemed to be all he could do.

* * *

Erik pushed the last remains of the Audi to maximum speed, only slowing when the police radar beeped from the dashboard of the car. He was lucky the car hadn't gone up in flames when it hit 115 mph on the freeway with the two stolen spares and smashed front end.

He kept his eyes pried open, he couldn't close them. All he could see was Jose.

All of his instincts wanted him to revert into old habits, he wanted to lose himself and forget. He wanted to forget the events of today, forget that his brother was laid out in the sand from blowing his brains out. He wanted to bury himself into a four dollar whore, down a bottle of jack, and do line after line off of a smooth surface. He wanted to be back to a simpler time when his heart was cold as ice and his morals shifted with the wind. Driving through downtown he passed the motel he found himself in a few weeks ago, with the girl with freckles. That's all he could remember about her. Freckles.

20 minutes to home, that's how long he had to decide what he was going to explain to Christine. He needed longer than that.

A bright neon sign caught his eye, a liquor store.

_Get home. No more distractions. Get to Christine._

That is what he swore he told himself while pulling into the parking lot, directly in front of the sign saying " _NO PARKING, TOW ZONE."_

As he got out of the car the familiar smell of weed was in the air, and the culprit was a pack of teenagers sitting in the far corner of the parking lot. He rolled his eyes and shook his head as he walked into the store. Making a beeline for the whiskey he snagged two bottles of Jack Daniels and made his way to the counter. The wide eyes stare that the clerk gave him was enough to ensure his assumption of the hellish state he guessed he was in. Erik simply scoffed and pulled out two twenties and slammed them on the counter.

"Keep the change…" he grumbled leaving the store without another glance. Stealing another glance toward the hoard of teens Erik tossed one bottle carelessly onto his passengers seat through the smashed window and walked towards the crowd.

He purposefully scuffed the back of his heels against the pavement making his presence known to them, and it was known as the chattered died down.

"You a cop or something?" One of the kids asked him as he spat on the ground.

Erik snickered, "Do I look like a cop?"

"What do you want?" He asked,

"A trade, bottle of jack for three joints. It's more in your favor than in mine…" Erik said presenting the bottle into the light from the street light.

"Is this a fuckin trick?" The kid asked, standing up and reaching behind him.

He rolled his eyes, "I swear, if you pull a gun on me fake or otherwise this night will not go as planned for you. I can assure you you're not the only one with one." The look of surprise on the kids face was enough.

Soon Erik was back on the road, the square bottle of booze illy fitting in the cup holder as he took swigs every few minutes, and the three joints in his pack of cigarettes. Lord knows he would need it.

As he passed by the entering Santa Monica sign his heart hammered. He wanted to see Christine, his heart yearned for it but there was this bit of uncertainty. He had said the three words that had left his mouth few times in his thirty eight years of life. She hadn't said it back, he wasn't even sure she did love him back. Who could? He had put her in danger, he was no good for her. He wasn't good for anyone- but he loved her. He had for a while now.

As he finally pulled into their driveway the house was quiet and undisturbed. He trusted Jose when he said he hadn't wanted any harm to come to her but there was always unease in his mind after all these years.

Taking a minute he made a half hearted attempt to compose himself. Glancing into the rear view mirror he saw his blood shot eyes, his disheveled hair, the dried blood all up his arm. In all honesty he was lucky the clerk at the liquor store hadn't called the cops.

When he got out of the car the damage he saw was even worse than he thought, and the last thing he needed was the neighbors seeing and calling Gustave. So, he opened the garage door and swapped the places of Gustavus Jeep and his Audi. That was a project for tomorrow.

Walking towards the front door he found it locked tight and he smiled with relief, she was a good listener if nothing else. As he made his way through the house he realized that all the lights were all turned off. He set down his keys, the bottle, and the box of condoms on the counter he listened for movement. There was nothing, not even the house settling. He took one final swig of the whiskey before making his way towards the stairs to her bedroom.

Standing in her doorway, seeing her wrapped up in the sheets all he could remember was all those nights in Mexico when he would come to home to find Luciana already asleep in his bed; her black hair splayed across his pillows, her lips slightly parted. He would crawl into bed with her, wrapping her in his arms when she would sleepily roll toward him.

Things had derailed so much that there was no point in trying to rationalize anything anymore. He had long tried to convince himself that Christine was too young for him, that she deserved better - and she _did_ deserve better. She deserved better than him, better than the boy. He was no good for her.

He shouldn't be there, standing in her doorway. He should have been down at the seedy motel he had gone to the day she had unmasked him with a four dollar whore.

He couldn't help the way he was drawn to her.

"Christine."

He stared at her through the low light cast by the fairy lights strung around the border of her room and the few candles she had lit.

"Christine," he repeated just a bit more firmly, his feet finally carrying him over the threshold of her doorway.

"Erik?" she breathed, shifting out from beneath the blankets.

"I think so," he answered with a half-hearted attempt at humor.

Her hands were wrapped tightly around the back of his neck before he even realized she stood. "I didn't say it back," she cried, the words coming in a quick flurry. "I didn't say it back - it was all so fast and I was so afraid - I love you, Erik. I love you too."

She tugged him firmly down to her and his hand found the back of her head. Her hair was no longer straightened - he could feel the knotted, still-damp curls against his palm. "I know," he said softly. "I know that you do."

"I'm leaving him," she breathed. "I promised - I promised myself, even if you didn't come home."

She smelled clean, like conditioner and soap, and she was warm pressed up against him. It took him a moment to break her tight grip on him but he managed to. The kiss that he gave her was warm and gentle. Her soft lips parted the slightest bit as she kissed him back.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if she knew how much of a mess he was. He wondered if she could taste the whiskey on his lips, if she could feel how desperate he was to lose himself in her.

He gave her a moment after he broke the kiss. A moment to hesitate, a moment to stop him, a moment to speak. None of them happened and he brought his lips back to hers, letting his greedy hand slide under the edge of her tank top as he sought out her breast.

He flicked his thumb over her nipple and he listened carefully for the catch in her breath, he felt the way that she pressed closer to him. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently.

It wasn't enough. He wanted to feel her, he needed to see her. When he tugged at the bottom of her tank top and pulled it up over her breasts she made no attempt to stop him.

He let his hands roam her smooth skin selfishly, he pinched gently at her nipple and when he began to walk her backwards she matched the movement. She kissed him back, her hands tangled in the back of his wife-beater and when she felt the bump of the edge of the mattress she moved slowly, letting his hands on her hips guide her onto it.

It wasn't until he started kissing his way down her pale throat that he realized how quickly her heart was beating. He hesitated there, brushing his lips against her throbbing pulse, letting the pads of his fingers brush against her jaw as he pushed her damp hair over her shoulder. The only sound he could hear was her quick, shallow breath and for half a second he wondered if he should slow down. He wondered if he should say something. The thought was gone as quickly as it came. He couldn't stop his lips as they trailed further down, he couldn't stop his tongue and the way it caressed her perfect, pink nipple.

" _Erik_."

Her gasp was musical and sweet when his lips closed around the peak of her breast and this, _this_ was what he needed; to feel her nails against his scalp when her fingers twisted just a bit too hard in his hair, to hear her shy moan. Her hips pressed forward just the slightest bit and his hands took the opportunity to snake up her inner thighs when her knees parted of their own accord.

Her fingers were tugging insistently at his hair and finally he gave in, releasing her breast and letting his head fall back.

There was only a moment of hesitation before she leaned down. Her already slightly swollen lips were clumsy against his but they demanded control and he allowed it. Her hands were on his back, tugging at his wife-beater and he let her wrinkle it, bunching the material and pulling it up. When she broke away he let her tug it off, lifting his arms for her.

Her lips met his again and for the first time all evening he wondered if she was trying to lose herself too. Despite the clumsiness, her kisses had grown confident. Her fingers were tracing over the black lines of the wings etched in the skin of his back but she didn't say a word about them. She didn't ask.

She hadn't asked anything at all since he stepped through the door.

The thought was almost encouraging.

He pressed up into her kiss and she responded easily, shifting back onto the bed, moving with him.

"Up," he murmured, tugging at her tank top. She lifted her arms and let him pull it over her head. When he kissed her again it was rougher, harsher, and she whimpered against his lips. Her palms were against his chest but she wasn't pushing him away - he was lucid enough to recognize that - they were simply running over his skin, exploring him in the same ways he had enjoyed her. She made no complaints, not even when he tugged gently at her hair and sucked a mark into her skin at the juncture of her throat. "God, you're beautiful," he mumbled roughly against her slightly slick skin.

She was caught somewhere half under him as he bent over her and she didn't seem off put by it in the slightest. She was already cradling him between her thighs - he wasn't sure if she had intended that or if he had forced it when he climbed onto the bed - either way it was an intoxicating place to find himself.

"Erik," she whispered, her voice wavering.

"Hm?"

Her sigh sounded an awful lot like relief and she reached up, cradling his good cheek in her warm palm. Her hand traveled higher, running through his disheveled hair, down to the nape of his neck. Her other hand was moving slowly, the tips of her fingers brushing against the cheek of his mask. "I want -" she sighed, swallowed, and tried again. "It hurts. When I kiss you. Can I please take it off?"

She had seen it before. The girl had just been shot at with him. She was half naked and under him. He nodded and she sighed again, carefully removing his mask and laying it beside them on the bed. The hand at the nape of his neck was pulling him down and she pressed up, kissing him enthusiastically.

He let her distract herself with his lips. He let her press her warm palm against his tattered cheek and run her fingers through his hair while he worked at getting his jeans off.

When he tugged at her waist she gave no fight. She lifted her hips up and when he rolled onto his back against her pillows she followed him, straddling him.

He used his heel to push away her tangled sheets and his jeans, running his hands over her knees, up to her hips. "Sweetheart," he said softly, waiting until she blinked down at him. He ran his palm up her stomach, watching her shiver at the gentle touch. "I need - want something from you. You know that you can always tell me no."

"What is it?"

Her voice was gentle and sweet. He took her hand and guided it slowly down his chest, down until he could press it gently against his nearly painful erection.

She said nothing. She simply shifted down and moved to his side, tugging his boxers off for him.

Her hand wasn't as hesitant as it had been in the past. She knew how tightly to hold him, she knew just the way he liked her to twist her hand, when he would push up against her it no longer broke her concentration.

It was pleasant but it wasn't what he needed and eventually he stopped her. "Sweetheart," he mumbled. "Your mouth. That's what I want."

She seemed almost confused by his request but eventually she relented, sinking down, unsure and nervous.

Her lips brushed gently against the head and he closed his eyes, letting her explore him. It was incredibly frustrating, waiting for the warmth of her mouth and only feeling a light flutter of her lips but he found that he was reminding himself that she was _not_ a four dollar whore.

She was Christine. The only experience she had was with him and he had certainly never pushed her for a blowjob before.

When she finally closed her lips around him he held the sheets to resist the urge to grab the back of her head. As out of it as he could admit he was he hadn't lost track of whose bed he was in. He hadn't forgotten her; her sweetness, her nervousness, her virginity. Instead of guiding her with his hands he used his voice, encouraging her with quiet moans when her tongue lapped against the sensitive spot just under the head, when she bobbed her head at a pace that was actually halfway pleasant.

One day he would teach her that she could use her hand, too. One day she would last a bit longer before her jaw began to cramp; she would not be so afraid to sink down a little further after she gagged. Today wasn't the day for it.

He recognized the way she clenched her jaw and tried to moved through the tenderness. He found it in him, somehow, to appreciate the effort she had given, even if it was only half satisfying.

"It's enough," he said softly before she could sink down to try again. "Come here, sweetheart. That was enough."

It was his turn once he got her beneath him again. After he kissed her, after he mumbled sweet thank yous against her skin, he kissed his way slowly down her body. It only seemed fair, he thought, that if she made the effort he did too. So he kissed along her thigh, he sucked gently at the delicate flesh there, and he pulled her panties off.

He wasn't particularly surprised to find that she was already dripping wet. Then again, he supposed that wasn't the purpose behind his endeavor.

The flick of his tongue against the bud of nerves that lay nestled between her legs made her gasp. She was lucky; he was far more experienced than she was. He ran his tongue steadily over it, he sucked and licked until she was trembling and, eventually, he let his thumb take over the job of rolling against her clit as his tongue sought out other ways to make her gasp. He licked gently along the seam of her lips and, when she moaned and her hips pressed forward, he allowed it to delve deeper into her. It explored the smooth, soft walls of muscle that only his fingers had been allowed to know before tonight, it rolled up and pressed against that sensitive spot inside of her that he had found that very first night.

She gasped his name in a desperate way when she came and he honestly wasn't sure if he had ever heard anything quite so sweet.

He kissed his way slowly up her trembling body, letting her fingers lock into his hair, keeping his kisses and the touch of his roaming fingers feather-light.

By the time his lips found hers again her breathing was just a bit deeper, just a bit slower, and the dilation in her pupils was enough to tell Erik she was still riding out the aftermath of her orgasm.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, waiting for her slow nod before he brushed his lips along her cheek and over to her ear. He tugged gently at the lobe of it with his teeth and she seemed to fall back into the moment, her fingers digging uncomfortably against his shoulders. "I want something else from you, Christine."

She nodded slowly and he didn't ask again. When he pulled away she let him go.

The only lucid thought he had was that he was upset he pushed his jeans so far away. It took a long moment of fumbling before he was able to find the condom that was tucked in the back pocket and once he did he tossed them to her bedroom floor, sending his mask along with them.

Christine stared up at him in the low light as he tore the packaging open, as he pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it carefully over himself. He moved slowly, waiting to hear her protest, but none came. When he sank back down to her she only drew her knees up against his sides.

He kissed her, trailing his fingers gently against the folds of her flesh and checking to be sure that he hadn't imagined it, that she was wet enough, before he wrapped his hand around himself and nudged against her.

"You can stop me," he mumbled, not wanting to ask for fear that she'd take the offer back. He had needed nothing in his life as desperately as he needed to be inside of her at that moment and after everything he certainly wasn't going to tempt fate by asking her to take it back.

She only nodded, anyway, and gave a breathy "Okay" that he didn't linger on long enough to decipher if it really was.

He was gentle and slow when he guided himself into her. He kissed her lips, held her hip firmly and didn't stop until he was buried completely inside of her. Her breath was quick against his lips and he lingered a moment, giving her another kiss, hesitating a moment to give her the opportunity to say something, anything, but she didn't. The only thing she did was dig her nails into his back, as though she needed to hold him there or he would vanish.

_I'm not going anywhere_.

That was what he wanted to say but if he was honest words weren't coming too easily for him in the moment. Instead he rolled her clit under his thumb and kissed at her throat lazily until he heard the catch in her breath and felt her hips roll into his touch. It was only then that he started to move.

Truth be told, he may have lost himself a bit there. He let himself. He needed to. He let her shy, quiet moans and whimpers push out the thoughts in his head, he let the taste of her salty skin wash away the metallic taste of the gun that had seemed to linger no matter what he had done, he let the feeling of her, tight and warm and eagerly willing around him, soothe the aching in his chest.

When he pulled against her hips she let herself rock up against him, her heels dug against his back, they slid up. He leaned back, caught her ankles and hooked them over his shoulders. She let him.

She let him rock himself down lower and kiss her. She gave the most delicious and desperate mewls in this new position. Her heels pressed against his shoulders and he realized, vaguely, that she was trying to pull him closer.

So he let her. He kissed her, he pressed his forehead against her throat and felt her pulse against his skin. He rubbed his thumb against her clit, he rocked deeply inside of her, and when she convulsed with her orgasm it was almost painfully tight.

He gave her a moment, only a moment, to ride out the wave of her own pleasure before he sought what he needed, before he rocked harshly into her, before he tugged her up to him just a bit too roughly.

Erik didn't gasp her name when he came as she had for him, he didn't do much of anything but groan and collapse against her.

Christine didn't seem to mind too much. She didn't complain about his weight over her or try to shimmy out from under him. She shifted only as much as she needed to to drop her ankles from his shoulders and then she held him, quietly, between her knees. Her fingers ran soothingly through his hair, her nails scratched gently against his scalp, and he thought he might never find it in him to move.

He could feel himself softening and that was what compelled him to move, holding the edges of the condom carefully as he pulled out of her gently. She flinched the slightest bit and he wasn't overly surprised when he looked down and saw the pinkish tint of blood staining the condom. He wasn't quite as gentle with her as he should have been, as he had wanted to be. He knelt over her as he tied it off, finding the discarded wrapper and slipping it back into the packaging. He moved from between her legs and leaned over to set it on the edge of her nightstand before he leaned down and pulled her tangled sheets back up.

He pulled her into his arms, brushing his lips against her forehead and settling under the sheets with her as well as he could when they were sliding halfway off of the bed.

Usually he would get up. He would unplug the strand of tea lights that were just a bit too bright. He would blow out her overly-scented candles. She didn't mind the dark so much, not when she was wrapped in his arms and pressed against his chest. Tonight he was too exhausted, physically and mentally, to make it to the plug halfway across the room.

"I love you too," he said, only just seeming to comprehend the fact that she had spoken the words too. His lips buried themselves in her hair and his thumb stroked over the skin of her shoulder. She was warm and soft and he held her tightly.

"I thought you were gone," she whispered. Her words were nothing more than a quiet mumble. "I - Erik, I thought you were dead. I tr-tried to call you a few times and it started going straight to voicemail."

"I know," he breathed, vaguely remembering the way he turned off his phone. Remembering the way he had pressed the cool barrel of a gun to his own temple. He brushed her hair back, looking down at her and trying to use her to push the images away. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, curling into him. Her hand was on his chest, over his heart and she sighed. "Don't be," she whispered. "You came home."

_Come back, come home to Mexico._

He closed his eyes, breathing in her room. The vanilla of her candle, the flowery smell of her shampoo. "I came home," he echoed, trying to decide if it was honestly the truth. He swallowed, tracing patterns in the skin of her shoulders as she relaxed against him. "My dad - he was a good, honest man," he mumbled. She was silent and he sighed. "I wish that I could tell you that I am too."

When she peeled the sheets back he let her. When her fingers traced over the block lettering on his skin, even though he wanted to, he didn't pull her hand away. He let her touch it curiously. He let her fingers spell it - ' **LOS ZETAS** ', the brand that he had been too stupid to refuse. "Meg told me they were gang tattoos," she admitted softly, glancing up at him. "We laughed about it."

He wished that she was still laughing about it. Something about the serious look in her eye told him that she wouldn't ever be able to again. "I'm sorry," he repeated. It was weak but it was all he seemed to be able to offer her.

"Is it like going AWOL?"

Somehow he was able to huff out a broken laugh at that, pulling her closer. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, something like it, Christine."

She turned her face in, pressing it against his chest. "You kept me safe."

_Without me you never would have been in danger_. "Of course I did," he said instead, pulling at her half-damp curls gently. "I'll always keep you safe, Christine."

She sighed, her thumb still brushing over the letters. "Is that why you came here?"

He couldn't take it anymore. He pulled her hand up, pressing a kiss to her palm in an attempt to find a reason to get it away from the tattoo. "They weren't supposed to find me."

"Dad doesn't know," she mumbled. "You wouldn't be here."

"Your father knows that I've made a lot of mistakes. He knows that I spent some time in prison. That's all I hoped he'd need to know."

She hadn't known that either. He didn't remember that until he looked down at her and saw the way her brow was furrowed.

"Drug trafficking across borders," he said gently. "That's what I was convicted of. I served my time. I'm sure I'm on a list or two but I'm not a fugitive. I promised I would answer your questions."

Her fingers were thoughtfully running through the hair on his chest. They brushed over his father's initials. She traced Luciana's name and the outline of the dove. "I don't want to know what happened," she finally seemed to decide.

"I'm glad," he admitted softly. "I don't want to tell you."

She lifted herself up and when she brushed her lips against his he kissed her back gently, tracing her cheek when she pulled back and looked down at him seriously. "I have to know if I need to be afraid," she said softly. "I need to know if it's going to happen again. I want you, Erik. I love you. I still do. But I need to know."

He didn't dare to close his eyes. If he did he knew what he would see; Jose, his brains splattered in the sand, his dead-eyed stare. He was almost afraid to blink. "Not for a while now," he answered eventually. "You don't need to be afraid, Christine. I will keep you safe. I promise I will. No matter what."

"I've never been that close to a gun before," she said softly. "It was - it was so loud."

When he looked up into her eyes he could see the confusion there. It didn't surprise him. Truth be told he had completely expected to find her curled in a ball on the floor when he got back. The fact that she hadn't thrown herself into a panic attack should have been enough to tell him that she was still in a bit of shock. "They are. I'm sorry you had to be that close to one at all," he answered gently.

She blinked and her brow furrowed. "And you - that's when they - is he dead, Erik?"

"Do you want me to answer that?" he asked softly. She shook her head and he gave her a weak smile. "It doesn't matter, Christine. All that matters is that we're here. You're safe. I'm safe."

She slowly laid back down against him, pressing her ear over his heart, and all he could do was wrap his arm around her and run his fingers soothingly through her hair.

_If you love the princessa, marry her. Take her far away._

Erik looked around her room. He looked at the band posters on the wall and her textbooks piled on the desk, at the tea-lights and the shelves lined with trinkets Gustave brought back for her from his travels. If he asked her, in this very moment, he had no doubt that she would say yes. He had no doubt that she would gladly give him anything he asked in her current state but that wasn't how he wanted it. She had a life. She had friends. She was so close to graduation. He would hold on, just a little longer, he told himself. Just until she was graduated. Give her time to process this, time to wrap her head around him.

The only thing he did know was that he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He wasn't going to let her go the way he did Luciana.

He found that if he held her tight enough and buried his lips in her damp hair nothing too terrible came to him when he closed his eyes. He didn't see Jose in the sand. He didn't see Luciana's battered body and pleading eyes. He didn't see anything at all and it was a relief.


	19. Bury a Friend

Nightmares were something Erik experienced often but no nightmare had been this surreal and vivid in a long time.

Nothing but darkness surrounded him, darkness and mirrors. It was hot and muggy- unbearably hot. He was lying on the ground even in his dream out of instinct he reached to make sure his mask was still in place. It wasn't there. All he felt was smooth untarnished skin. Looking up into the glass all he was was his face, untarnished and young. How he should've looked. It was a mind game his conscious liked to play on him often.

"Tío! Come outside with me!" The voice of a little girl giggled. In the distance through the mirror he could see the silhouette of a little girl in a sunday church dress, her hair in braids.

He shook his head in disbelief, "Izzy wh-"

"Why don't you sing to me anymore? You always used to sing to me." She asked. Erik only simply blinked, trying to push himself up from the ground.

"I'll always sing to you-"

She no longer smiled, "You never came to visit me. You never put flowers on my grave with Papa, Tio."

"Izzy-" he staggered to his feet but stumbled into the mirror and turned around to find himself no longer in a dark room but a hall of mirrors, never ending. Izzy was gone.

"She's dead because of you, hombre." The voice of Jose said, and he saw him in another mirror out of the corner of his eye, "I am dead because of you, dead with my wife and child."

"I'm sorry-"

"There is no 'lo siento' anymore." Jose whispered as he watched him draw a gun out from behind his back just as he had done hours ago, "Watch this time." Erik watched the blood splatter and run down the glass as the gun went off.

"Angel de la muerte… you have lost your touch." The air seemed to whisper in his ear. He looked into the mirrors but he was completely alone, being alone was always dangerous for him. The sweltering heat in the room increased as it beaded on his forehead.

A high pitch scream came next, "Erik! Please, help me!" It was Christine's cry for help.

"Christine!"

Another scream, "Erik! Por favor! Ayudame!"

"Lu!"

The hysterical cries of two young girls rang endlessly. Turning again he saw Christine, a gun to her head and a arm around her neck to hold her still.

"Help me! Erik, please!" She screamed rawly. Her face red and beaten down.

"Ayuda me!"

The other mirror was Lu, the exact situation of what happened fifteen years ago when she was murdered.

"Lu hold on-"

A gunshot went off and behind him he saw Christine in a pool of her own blood, as he screamed and took a step forward to run to her he felt a rough material wrap itself around his neck and yank him away from both parties. A rope.

"Erik!" A chorus of screams seemed to echo through his mind. The rope around him tightened making him gasp for air. A searing pain began through his cheek and down his side began as well, spreading rapidly.

"You should have died in that accident, you should have been shot instead of that little girl, you should have died in the explosion, you should have overdosed that night,"

The voice of his father, the voice that haunted him most of all in his nightmares. He was never wrong, he was the voice of reason even in the afterlife. He never could see him, he could never find him. All he ever saw saw his reflection in a mirror as it turned to melted flesh. As the floor began to crumble beneath him and the rope yanked him up that's when he would wake up.

Gasping breath was the only noise in the bedroom as Erik sprung up. Feeling all around his neck in attempt to remove the absentee rope that disappeared with the dream. The movement of Christine rolling over in bed next to him calmed him ever so slightly,

"Erik?" Her soft sleepy voice said as her small hand grasped his wrist, "what-"

He looked over at her and simply ran his hand through her curls, "Nothing. Go back to sleep, sweetheart." He whispered leaning over and kissing her lips softly, "I'm gonna go have a cigarette, I'll be right back."

She nodded sleepily and nuzzled herself back into the pillow falling back to sleep while he pulled his jeans on. When he glanced back towards her he couldn't find himself going too far from her. That is how he ended up sitting on the roof outside her bedroom window puffing on a joint just so every few seconds he could look over his shoulder and make sure she was still there.

His mind always chose to run marathons at night, or run for its life- he was never sure. It was always the same, regrets and plans.

Regrets. There were too many. The boy, letting Christine attend prom with him. He shouldn't have- he should have already forced the breakup upon her. It would get worse, he knew that. After all he could read Raoul like an open book, it was like looking in a mirror twenty years ago. Drowning himself in girls, booze and drugs. It was uncanny the similarities. Christine didn't deserve it, from either of them.

Erik loved her, that was certain. He was certain. It was something he hadn't allowed himself to feel before with her. He _loved_ her. He wanted to make himself better for her, to take care of her. It was odd, this feeling of taking care of someone. It was oddly fulfilling in a way. He wanted her all to himself and the boy out of the picture for good. Maybe he should have even told Gustave because he wasn't enough of a man to put an end to it the first time he saw those handprints on Christine's wrist.

_Wasn't man enough._

It wouldn't be the first time he had heard that. It was true, he was still a twenty year old living in a thirty eight year old man's body. That's what he was. He never had to grow up, the only time he had to pretend was for Luciana. Still, there were occasions then that the facade was gone and she really saw him for what he was…

**Mexico, 15 Years Ago**

The tunnels were dark, hot and dirty. They echoed, the walls nothing more than stone slabbing at this point.

Luciana trailed along somewhere behind him, her fingers tangled in his sleeve. She was always touching him in one way or another. Sometimes he wondered if she drew a sense of safety from the contact - that was certainly why he brought her with him whenever he could. So long as she was in his sight he knew that nothing too terrible could happen to her. The days that he could bring her along with him as he made his rounds and checked up on the workers were his most content - he hated leaving her at home. While his flat wasn't unsafe there was certainly nothing keeping Jefe out; she was a target simply because she had been branded his. Erik was no fool. Power belonged to those who took it and he knew full well that he had just as many enemies as he had friends.

Erik did his best to make sure that she was always presentable - long, flowing skirts and tank tops, enough to cover her and still allow her to cool off.

The terrible day had started just as routinely as any other - he woke with her curled against him, he cooked breakfast as she chattered on insatiably. He had helped her to pick her outfit, erring on the side of modesty.

There was something deep in his gut that told him he should turn around and take her home as they approached the tunnels. He ignored it, of course, as he often did, but something in the air put him on edge. It was ridiculous, he told himself. There was no reason that this day was any different than any other.

All was quiet as they made their way through the dark tunnels. Perhaps that should have been the first hint that something was off - while it was never particularly loud there was usually some sort of chatter, some echos from deep underground. The only thing he heard was the echo of their footsteps resounding off of the walls.

It was eerie. He knew that it wasn't only him that felt off - Luciana tugged on his sleeve, her hand shifting to get a more firm grasp on his arm. When he glanced down at her she didn't meet his gaze - instead she stared straight down the dim hallway.

He covered her hand on his inner arm with his own, prying her fingers from his sleeve carefully. "Stay here, Luciana," he said seriously. "Do not go anywhere - it is like a maze down here. Do you understand?"

"Si," she said, her voice nervous.

He took only half a moment to smooth her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I will be right back, chiquita."

He only waited for her to nod before he made his way further into the darkness, reaching into his pocket and closing his fingers around the sleek black handle of the switchblade that he never left home without. Something that morning had told him to grab the pistol that was tucked in his nightstand but it had slipped his mind in the rush to find Luciana something to wear that wouldn't force her into heat exhaustion - a real threat down in the closed-off tunnels. The air was thick and stagnant. Heat had a tendency to be trapped.

He was confused when he stepped into the hollowed room that was the current construction. There his men were. He swept his eyes over the walls, counting them in his head. Yes, all seemed to be accounted for, silently standing along the walls.

"What is this?" he asked harshly, taking two steps into the cavern. "A protest?"

Silence was the only answer that greeted him. Twelve men stood tall, staring at him through the harsh work light. It was hot, ungodly hot.

"What is it you stand for?" he asked, running his thumb over the metal handle of the switchblade and looking over each man in turn. "Fair wages? Water?"

Erik blinked at the silence that was his answer. He knew exactly what was about to happen. He had attuned himself to silence - listening, careful observation. He heard the shift behind him, just to the left. He heard the slow footsteps that the man made a laughable attempt to silence.

Had this been only a few weeks ago perhaps he would have allowed them to believe that they had taken him off-guard. Perhaps he would have allowed their carefully planned coup to be carried out - not now. Not when he knew that Luciana stood just up the hallway, dutifully waiting for him. It wasn't his life that he was concerned about preserving - it was hers. While he would readily admit that he was far from a good man he knew that what waited next in line for her was worse.

Erik waited carefully, biding his time and when the man was just behind him he whirled, giving a swift and firm kick to the back of his knees.

He toppled just as Erik knew he would. He twisted one hand into the man's hair, pulling his head back roughly as he pulled out the switchblade, the 'click' of it opening clearly audible in the still near-silence.

There was no hesitation as Erik brought it down against his throat. There was an art to it, in knowing just the right amount of pressure to apply, in knowing just the right way to angle the blade depending on the amount of suffering that was truly desired.

He pulled the blade quickly across the man's throat. It wasn't as bad as it had been once - the feeling of skin giving way under the firm pressure of the blade was no longer as off-putting as it had been once. The wet gurgle afterwards no longer turned his stomach, the spurts of blood that stained his sleeve and ran down his knuckles was no longer unfamiliar.

Erik let go of his hair, watching as the man fell to the floor with a wet gasp. The instinctive struggle in those last few moments had always intrigued Erik - that last bit of hope in a hopeless situation, the way a hand would press against the gaping wound as though a slight amount of pressure would be enough to save them. In death all men were equal - it was an odd conclusion to draw. Slit his own throat and he was sure it wouldn't look much different - Jefe, José, some nameless laborer, they were all the same when it came down to those final moments.

"You," Erik said, pointing the bloodied blade at the man that stood directly across from him. "Do you have children, Señor?" The man swallowed thickly, nodding, and Erik wiped the blade off on his clean sleeve. "Do you know the fate of orphans in a place like this? And you," Erik said, nodding at the man beside him. "I have seen the way Jefe eyes your wife at the cantina. What do you think will happen to her without you?"

Erik clicked the blade closed, looking down at his bloodied hand. "Do not forget that you are all replaceable to Jefe," he said, nudging the body at his feet with his toe. "Perhaps the next coup should be better planned - a sloppy way to come after la ángel de la muerte. I expect this to be cleaned up and for all of you to be back to work by the time I come back."

Erik sighed, nudging the body at his feet one last time before he turned, meeting Luciana's gaze as she stared wide-eyed at him from the edge of the hallway. He swallowed hard, wiping his bloodied palm against his pant leg as he took a step toward her.

He took three steps before she seemed to come to herself. With a sob she turned on her heel, taking off down the dark hallway.

Despite the way his heart pounded in his chest he forced himself to hold it together, to keep his steps calm and even until he was out of the line of sight of his workers.

"Luciana!" he yelled harshly, looking over the empty hallway carefully. He took a deep breath, listening calmly. He could hear her choked sobs and the slap of her sandals against the floor - the difficult part was discerning where exactly it was coming from.

Only half confident he took the hallway that branched to the right, his strides long and quick, and yes - it was louder here. With that he set off in a half-run himself. She was small and he knew that he could easily catch up with her.

It was like a scene out of one of those b-rate horror movies he used to watch with his father. If it weren't for the way his heart was racing with anxiety he may have even found it in himself to laugh - the bloodied, crazed killer chasing the sweet, frightened girl through the dark.

Once she was in his sight his chest loosened.

He caught her by the elbow, tugging her back against his chest. He held her tightly by her upper arms.

"I told you to _stay_ , Luciana," he said harshly.

She let out a loud, blood-curdling scream and he sighed, wrapping his bloodied arm around her waist and pressing his clean hand firmly over her mouth.

" _Hush_ ," he said. "Be quiet, Luciana. Hush chiquita."

She struggled against him and he only tightened his grasp of her, turning and leaning his back against the stone wall. If only he let her wear herself out… she bit his fingers, hard, and he hissed through his teeth.

" _Stop_ , chiquita," he said, trying his best to soften his voice. She kicked her heel back at him, catching him just above the knee, and he yanked her back against himself. "Luciana, stop it," he repeated. When she bit him again he groaned, pinching her nostrils gently closed with his thumb and forefinger. That only made her struggle harder, truly afraid now. "If you bite me again I will bite you back," he threatened gruffly, releasing her nose.

That seemed to catch her attention. She pulled against his arm one more time, two more times, her little fingers scrambling in an attempt to struggle away from him. And then, suddenly, she fell back against him. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath and he sighed, not yet trusting her enough to let go of her.

"There are worse things than death, Luciana," he said softly, loosening his hand over her mouth. "I am not a good man - I have never pretended to be. But I would never hurt _you_ , chiquita. You know that."

She whimpered from behind his hand and he sighed.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he said softly. Her light tank top and white skirt were irreversibly stained with blood and he swallowed, holding her tightly. "When it comes down to it it is them or us," he said gently. "I will always choose us, Luciana. I will always choose you. He knew exactly what was at risk. You know what they call me, chiquita - ángel de la muerte. It is a title that was earned. You know what I am. I have never tried to hide that from you."

Her hands gripped his blood-drenched sleeve tightly and when he slid his hand away from her mouth she gasped. He stroked her hair, attempting to make up for the grotesque thing she had witnessed and his gruffness with gentleness.

"I am the same man I was this morning, chiquita," he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "The same one I have been since you've met me."

"Ángel de la muerte," she breathed, the words trembling with her lip. Her eyes pressed closed and he sighed.

Hesitantly he slid his arm from around her waist. To his surprise she simply turned, pressing her face against his chest as she sobbed. "Hush, chiquita," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I know - I know that it was scary. I know, sweetheart. That's why I told you to stay right where you were. You shouldn't have had to see that. I am sorry that I scared you."

She said nothing, she simply clutched his shirt in her hands, leaving bloodstains in the shape of her fingers as she pressed herself to his chest.

"I will keep you safe, chiquita," he promised quietly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I will keep you safe but you must be brave - I know that you can be." He covered her hands gently with his, massaging his thumbs over her tightly clenched fingers in an attempt to loosen her grip. "I'm going to take you home, sweetheart. We are going to get all cleaned up and you can help me make lunch. You can pick a movie, chiquita. Any one that you want. Does that sound good?"

She sniffled and nodded against him. He simply brushed his palm over her hair again.

Hauling her out of the tunnels with his hand tight around her upper arm as tears streamed down her face was the most painful thing he had been forced to do by far.

—

Angel de la Muerte… that's what he was. The murdering monster that mothers warned their children about. Now Christine had seen it. She had seen him for what he is, or was- he still wasn't even sure.

Bow now, how the tables had turned, the infamous Ángel de la Muerte now was here with his teenage girlfriend and squatting at his old friends house. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. In the two weeks he had been here he had distracted himself with Christine fully. The reason he had been here in the first place was just to throw the cartel off of his tracks. He knew that they would find him after he got out of prison, the would tap his phone, they would track his bank account, they would find whatever house he bought. Even without buying a home they had found him.

In a way, he was lucky it has happened the way it did. Nobody could return to Mexico. Jefe could assume it was a shoot out killing all parties involved. They were safe for now… but he know it wouldn't be forever. He could wait till graduation but after that he needed to take her and leave.

She wasn't even the first virgin he had slept with. There had been a point in his life when he decided that he would never take another woman's virginity - not for some moral reason, no, simply because it was _inconvenient_. They grew too attached, he decided, and he had never been one for commitment.

He wasn't sure how he had dug himself in so deeply. Christine wasn't like other women. For all of her braveness there was something truly fragile in her. He had broken hearts before - at this point in his life he had honestly believed he was immune to the guilt that came afterwards. She loved him, though.

Hers was the first heart that he never wanted to break. If he was honest she was the first woman that he had never considered leaving. When she screamed he hadn't panicked because she was afraid; he had panicked because he thought she may have been hit. Even though it wasn't the case, thank any God that may have been listening, the echo of that blood-curdling scream still haunted him. She _could have been_ hit. She could have been killed. He never would have forgiven himself.

The wound in his right shoulder spoke to how close she came to death. If he hadn't shoved her head down it would have been in her temple instead. She probably didn't even realize how close it had come, the way that death had so casually brushed past her.

Innocent Christine who he tainted. Perfect, sweet Christine who tried so hard to be everything that was expected of her. Christine, self-destructive little Christine who broke herself to keep from disappointing anyone else. He wondered what it was like to be so selfless, to give and give and give until there was nothing left to take and _still_ somehow find more to give. She was crushing herself under the weight of the world. He wanted to fix her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to teach her to be selfish, to take what she needed too, to realize that the fate of the world didn't rest on her small shoulders.

She needed him just as much as he needed her.

The sound of the window beside him opening is what snapped him out of his thoughts. Christine stood there in her underwear and wrapped up in a oversized black zip up hoodie she must had stolen from him.

"What are you doing?" She asked looking out into the dark backyard.

"Just…" he looked at the joint in his hand, "decompressing, I guess."

"Weed?" She said with a soft smile, "Raoul does it too, he's a lot nicer when he's high actually."

Erik sighed, "Lovely, we have another thing in common." He grumbled. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Christine begin to climb out the window, "Careful, we've avoided the hospital so far tonight and I want to keep it that way." He joked but in reality it was in sincerity.

She manuvred herself out of the window and crawled into his lap with ease, leaning back against his chest. "Babe?"

He found himself laugh inwardly at the pet name the generic nature of it but knowing how she meant it with all her heart, "Hm?"

"Can I try it?" She asked meekly.

Erik sighed, he couldn't pull the 'your father would kill me' card ever again at this point, "Here," he said softly lifting it to her lips, "Drag slowly." He said as her lips closed around the filter and she inhaled slowly as he directed. He coughed as he expected her to but only for a short period of time before she slumped against him bonelessly.

"Who's initials are on your chest?" She asked softly while snuggling closer to him.

He sighed heavily, "My father…" he whispered into her hair.

"Oh…"

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, "He died a long time ago…" Erik whispered, leaning back against the house and looking up at the stars.

"I'm sorry…" she said kissing right over his heart deciding it was best to drop it.

"I love you, Christine." He whispered into her ear, "More than anyone."

"I love you too…" she whispered back, and he felt her shift so she could look at him, and her small hand caught his necklace, "What is this?"

He cringed at the question remembering the identical necklace in his pants pocket that he had taken from Jose's neck, "Something that represents a lot from when I was younger."

He could practically hear her thoughts trying to come up with the best way to ask her next question, "Tonight, did-"

"Yes." He said shortly, "The necklace was a gift from someone who was-" he heard the crack in his voice, "who was like a brother to me. That is all this necklace means to me now."

"Will you tell me about him?" She asked with innocence, bringing her hand to the broken half of his face that he nuzzled into.

"Another time, there is a lot to tell." He said. She didn't respond, she simply looked up again and he was thankful for the silence. He watched her look at the constellations, her eyes looking all around the night sky. "Erik, what's that constellation?" She said pointing to one that looked like the a stick figure.

"... it looks like Perseus." He said tracing the stars.

"Wasn't he a god?"

"No, he was a hero. He fought a monster with gifts from the Greek gods after he had sang to the sun and pleased them-"

"Did he die?" She asked like an eager student.

"No, he survived and married a beautiful woman and turned everyone he hated to stone with Medusa's head. He became a great king and lived to an old age. When he finally passed, Zeus gave him the stars in the sky."

"How do you know all of that?"

"Books. You don't have much else to do in prison besides work out and read. I think I read every book in that library, maybe twice even." He huffed remembering the countess times he snuck a book or two out for the night to feed his appetite for entertainment while behind bars.

"Mom used to read a lot, I remember that." She said going back and fiddling with the chain of his necklace.

"She did indeed. Her favorite place was the deck at Mama's house with a good book and a peach ice tea." Erik remembered. It was odd, the obscure details of her that remained.

"I miss her, a lot." She whispered.

"As do I…"

There was a calm silence between them, just listening to the sounds of the breeze and cars going by on the side streets. Erik had no clue what time it was but by the sky beginning to lighten around them it was near dawn. When he felt Christine shiver in his arms he knew she needed to be back in bed and asleep. It didn't take much to convince her to climb off his lap and back through the window.

She settled back in bed with him easily enough, curling into his side with her head over his heart. He was nearly asleep when he felt her nails tracing down his torso lower and lower.

"Christine, you need to sleep." He said softly but not making any attempt to stop her. When her hand began to rub against the waistband of his boxers he sighed and rolled over, "Are you sore at all?"

"Only a little." She whispered, her cheeks turning the rosy color that he adored.

With a smile he rolled onto his side and bent over her letting her pull him down to her lips. Sleep could wait.


	20. bad guy

Christine tried, pretty hard, to get Erik out of bed. They both had, in fact. Each time he seemed ready she would pull him back; each time she was he would slip his practiced fingers between her legs and she found every pretense of actually being a productive human being melting away.

"You smell like blood and whiskey," she finally pointed out, her chest heaving as he leaned over her and pressed kisses along her hairline.

He hummed, nuzzling his broken face against her throat. "You smell like flowers and sex," he mumbled in reply.

She ran her nails gently over his back, listening to his contented sigh. "It sounds like we both need a shower then," she said softly. He huffed and lowered himself, pressing his weight on top of her. "God you're heavy!" she huffed in a half laugh, pushing uselessly at his shoulders.

"Mhm," he hummed, rolling off of her and to the side. "Honestly I feel pretty disgusting right now," he admitted. "I think there's still sand in my hair."

Now it was her turn to lift herself up and lean over his chest, pressing her lips to his gently. When she pulled away he brushed her hair back, tucking the tangled mess behind her ear. "I don't mind, really," she admitted. "Eventually we do have to get out of bed though. I need a shower. And breakfast. I'm starving, Erik."

The truth was that he didn't want to leave her bed. It was safe there, warm wrapped up in each other. He knew that eventually they would have to move. They'd have to go back to their normal, everyday life. She would have to go back to school. They both needed to eat, even if he wasn't sure that he could stomach the thought at the moment. He sighed. "If you are _starving_ then we had better hurry," he said with more humor than he actually felt. "We could cut the time in half if we showered together."

Her nail traced his dad's initials slowly as she bit her lip. "Erik?"

"Hm?"

"I love you," she said meekly, staring at her nail on his skin.

"I love you too, Christine. So much," he responded softly. When she finally looked into his eyes he forced himself to smile. "Come on," he said, sliding his hand up her smooth thigh and giving her butt a gentle squeeze. "Shower."

Christine grumbled like she hadn't been the one to suggest it as she rolled out of bed. Erik let himself linger a moment, admiring her from where he lay on her bed, watching her as she dug through her dresser for something to wear.

"If you're going to make me move for this can you at least go start the water so it's not freezing?" she grumped.

"Yeah," he said, forcing himself out of her bed. He lingered behind her for a moment, letting his fingers trace over the goosebumps already raising on her arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to her wildly matted curls. "Hot?"

"Mhm," she hummed, holding the edges of the dresser drawer as his fingers teased lightly over her arms. "Steaming."

He gave her arms a gentle squeeze before he broke away and made his way into her bathroom. He cranked the water on, nudging the hot up. He didn't like particularly hot showers but he did appreciate the way that the steam fogged the mirror so he couldn't quite see himself in it.

He would have to leave her, briefly, to go back to the guesthouse and find some clean clothes. He wished that he had thought of it the night before but he hadn't been thinking of much besides seeing her safe and alive. Erik felt every bit like an overdramatic teenager. He couldn't find it in himself to mind the feeling much when she wandered naked into the bathroom and pressed her face against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Do you need help?" she asked, the words muffled.

"With what?" he asked in confusion.

Her fingers moved, tracing over the medical tape at the edge of the gauze on his arm. "It's in a weird spot," she said, pulling away. "I can help you, like… change it."

"Later," he said, pulling her hand away. He already knew that he wasn't going to let her touch it. The packing gauze was filled with blood and her knowing that he had been shot was more than enough for him without her having to stare straight at the proof. "Go feel the water, Christine."

By the time he looked over she was already in the shower, sighing contentedly as the hot water beat against her back. "C'mon," she coaxed, reaching a hand through the gap in the curtain. "You're letting the warm out and I'm hungry."

It wasn't that he didn't have the will to resist anymore; it was simply that he didn't have the desire to. They had gone much too far to even consider turning back now. He peeled the curtain open and climbed in behind her, using his hands on her waist to press her forward so that he could get a bit of water too.

"Erik, I'm getting cold," she complained.

He smiled, pulling her back under the water. "We can't have that," he murmured, reaching for her wash cloth. He popped open her body wash and squeezed it onto the wash cloth. That was _certainly_ where her flowery smell came from, he decided as he wrapped his arms around her to wet the washcloth and work the gel into a lather.

He started at her upper back, brushing her damp and impossibly tangled hair over her shoulder. She relaxed back against him with a warm hum.

"You're going to have to condition again," he murmured, trailing the washcloth slowly down her back. "You'll never get those tangles out without it."

She gave a contented hum as his hand traveled lower with the washcloth, running slowly over the perfect shape of her butt. When he traveled even lower and traced it gently between her thighs she whimpered, leaning back against him.

"Have I not worn you out yet?" he mumbled teasingly.

"No," she breathed, spreading her legs slightly.

He hummed warmly, pressing a kiss to her already flushed cheek. His free hand snaked around her, his middle finger finding her clit as he continued to wash her. "It isn't very productive," he pointed out as she pressed forward against his hand. He was trailing the washcloth over her stomach now, up to her breasts. "I thought you were hungry."

"Mhm," she moaned as his finger moved gently between her legs. " _Starving_ ," she added breathlessly.

He moved his hand, slipping a single finger between the soft folds of her flesh. He had given up on even pretending he was washing her. He dropped the washcloth to the floor and brushed his lips against her throat, daring to dart his tongue out to trace a perfect rivulet of water. "You are so beautiful, Christine."

Erik had honestly believed that he was drained completely. He wasn't as young as he still tried to pretend he was. She moaned and he realized, half in dismay, that he was wrong.

She pressed back against him and he heard her breath catch. She reached one hand back, pulling roughly at his hip. "Please," she whimpered. "Please, _please,_ Erik."

He _shouldn't_ , he knew that. He had done a lot of things that he shouldn't do. Erik tried to reason quickly in his head. He could pull out, _would_ pull out. If worse came to worst he would buy her an overpriced plan b. One time wouldn't hurt, his blood-deprived brain reasoned. Just once. To actually feel her. "I'll have to wash you again," he mumbled.

" _Erik_ ," she whimpered, rolling her hips back against him.

He hummed, slipping his finger out of her and guiding her hands to the shower wall. "Bend, Christine."

There was no hesitation on her part - she bent at the waist and even spread her legs for him. He held her hip firmly, trying to remind himself of the fact that they were in the shower and he didn't want her to fall, as he guided himself to her wet heat.

She felt amazing. Everything about her was amazing; she was soft and tight, hotter than the water beating against his arm, and he had never heard her moan in quite the way she did as he pushed inside of her, truly skin-to-skin.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathed, rolling his hips against hers and making a half-hearted attempt to control himself. "You - fuck you feel so good, Christine," he moaned.

From the sounds she was making he had to assume that she felt the same way. Her fingers were curling, her nails attempting to find purchase on the hard linoleum.

He was exhausted and overly-sensitive. He felt every ridge of muscle in her, every twitch and clench and he knew that he wouldn't last as long as he hoped to. He reached around her, rubbing gently at the hood of her also overly-sensitive clit.

Erik couldn't afford himself the opportunity to appreciate the way she contracted around him as she moaned his name - he had to yank himself out of her, knowing that if he gave himself one more moment he would certainly have to buy her a plan b.

It only took two strokes of his hand to finish himself off. He cupped his hand, letting his palm fill with water and using it to wash his come off of her thigh.

"Fuck," he breathed again. "Come here, sweetheart. Come here. Let me get your hair."

—-

Showered and dressed, Christine sat at the kitchen island sipping on an iced coffee she had Ubered to the house from Starbucks which earned a 'goddamn millennials' comment from Erik as he sipped his hot black coffee that Christine didn't understand how he drank it. Her phone was ringing relentlessly due Meg wanting to know every detail of how last night was. Christine decided it was best to leave out the whole almost getting shot thing.

Soft music played through the surround system in the house as Erik made her breakfast, the sound of him softly switching between humming and singing was comforting.

"Why didn't you ever become a singer?" She asked, silencing her phone so the singing wouldn't be interrupted. She heard him scoff as he turned around placing a plate with an egg sandwich and fruit in front of her.

"That was the plan, singer, songwriter, composer, something like that." He said while turning off the stove and going to pour himself his third cup of coffee this morning.

"What happened?" She asked picking up a piece of watermelon and popping it in her mouth.

"Life, it has a fun way of throwing all of your plans out the window and fucking you sideways." He said bitterly. Glancing back at her with the confused expression on her face he sighed, "When my father passed away I was left to run a company, a company world millions and was essentially my family legacy if you believe in all that shit."

"Why didn't you just have someone else do it?"

He went quiet again, setting his coffee on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, "Why do you feel the need to go to college for something you don't want to do?"

"...Because I want to make dad proud of me, and he wants me to continue with music after he is gone someday- oh." She said just now realizing his point.

"Exactly." He gazed upside for a minute and Christine found herself wishing she could read his mind as easily as he could with her. He cleared his throat, "I'm gonna go have a cigarette. Eat your sandwich before it gets cold, angel."

Erik sat outside in the shade, he stared absentmindedly at the dry bird feeder in the small garden with overgrown bushes. The last twenty four hours were still blurry. He honestly didn't understand how Christine was actually okay at best. He could tell himself all he wanted that it was because she was in one of those states of bliss girls get in after they lose their virginity. He was worried, he was worried the second a loud noise comes from something or someone accidentally scares her she will have a panic attack and only think about having a gun pointed at her and seeing him be shot. At breakfast he caught her glancing at the dressings on his arm a few times.

Gustave was supposed to be home tomorrow night, Erik knew he needed to deal with the car situation. The Audi was currently totaled, bullet holes and all. The first person who came to mind to deal with this was little man that that did the new paint job on the Audi after Raoul decided to give it a makeover. Erik began searching through the recent calls on his phone in search of the shop number.

Within an hour a truck would be here to pick up the car and take it away, the phone call was short and sweet- most likely due to the fear Erik could hear in the owners voice due to their previous transactions. That was one issue out of the way.

The sound of the front door of the house opening and slamming shut was what caught his attention.

"Raoul what-!" He heard Christine shout.

In double time Erik pushed himself from his seat in the shade, leaving everything on the patio table. He threw the glass door going into the kitchen open, seeing the boy and Christine standing on either side of the kitchen island.

"Christ, do you ever leave?" Raoul growled, "Don't you know when your not wanted?"

"Enough, Raoul." Christine said butting back with more force than Erik expected. Erik walked towards the side of the island where Christine stood, never breaking eye contact with the boy.

" _Enough Raoul,"_ he whined, mocking her, "You pick him over me?"

"Yes, I do." She said firmly, "He's good to me Raoul."

Raoul snickered while looking between the two, "You're good to her? Let me guess, you buy her nice things, and she lets you fuck her in return."

Erik opened his mouth but Christine beat him to it, "Leave Raoul, just accept it. We are done, we have been for a long time."

"Accept it? No, that's not how this works lotte. Remember, I could ruin your spotless little reputation with just a few texts to your dear daddy. Tell him how you're fucking a felon." Raoul said pulling out the stool at the island and sitting down comfortably, "You can usually look up a person pretty easily on the internet- did you know that old man?"

Erik took a step forward but Raoul only laughed, "Remember, you touch me my father will have you back in jail so fast your head will spin. You should know that, I mean you and I aren't so different. Powerful dads with money will do anything to make sure their kids stay out of trouble-"

"Raoul, stop it!" Christine pleaded, practically feeling the anger radiating off of Erik.

Raoul didn't even look at her as she begged for him to stop, "I read about your accident, really a shame. Your dad and your face? Tough blow. I can't imagine the guilt you live with, killing your father-?"

Christine tried to grab Erik's arm but it was too late, he was charging towards Raoul. Christine saw the fear the momentarily flashed through Raoul's eyes, "Touch me and I tell Gustave!" Raoul yelled as Erik stood a mere inches away, "You do anything, I will tell him." He said looking between Erik and Christine.

"Then I'll tell him you cheated on me with Carly first." Christine said fighting back.

"You really think that will matter? You will never be allowed to see him again, Lotte."

"Then I will tell him you are an abusive alcoholic, and that you were drunk at school all the time." Even Erik would admit, that shocked him to her her say that. There were no tears in her eyes, she wasn't shaking, all he could see was the sheer expression of anger on her face.

Raoul sat there for a moment, a silly smile on his face. "I honestly did not thing you would have the guts to do this Lotte, I guess that good obedient girl is gone, huh?"

"Long gone." She said firmly.

"Fine, I'll bite. Let's make a deal." He said smugly, "I won't tell your father about you and American Horror Story over here if you don't say a word about my drinking."

"And we will say we broke up due to college and we didn't want to deal with a long distance relationship." She added, only glancing to Erik for a nod of approval.

"Fine, and prom night you left cause you were feeling sick. I sent you home in a car with one of my families drivers if anyone asks."

"Deal."


End file.
